


Economies of Scale in Social Capital

by PepperF



Series: Neighbours AU [2]
Category: Community (TV)
Genre: AU, F/M, yes it's the Neighbours AU at last!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2016-05-02
Packaged: 2018-05-26 16:31:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 40,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6247369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PepperF/pseuds/PepperF
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When they'd agreed to just be friends, they really should have included a drunk-and-horny clause.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I seriously cannot thank Bethany enough - without her encouragement, feedback, mad beta skillz, ideas, and occasional nagging, this story would not exist. In fact, it's due to her that this is by far the longest fic I've ever managed to finish. I suck at real-life words (this is why I prefer writing fiction!), so I am going to entirely fail to express how much thanks I owe her and how grateful I am.
> 
> Also, yes, this is finished, and no, I'm not going to publish it all at once. that's (mostly) not sadism: it'll be better this way, believe me!

When they'd agreed to just be friends, they really should have included a drunk-and-horny clause, reflected Annie, when she woke up naked and tangled in Jeff's sheets for the third time in a month. Because this was dangerously close to becoming a habit.

 _Was it really all that bad?_ asked the part of her brain that took over whenever she'd had a few too many. After all, it wasn't like they hadn't done this before. _Yes_ , she told that part firmly, _it was very, very bad_. Jeff Winger was a hot mess. Emphasis on 'mess'. And, actually, on 'hot'. Except of course that didn't work... oh, never mind.

The unpleasant ache in her head contrasted with the very pleasant ache everywhere else. He might be a hot mess, but he sure knew his way around – aaaand that was the sort of thinking that had led to her being back here _again._

She hadn't planned to fall into this routine. At first, she'd genuinely thought she could control the urge she felt, whenever he was near, to climb him like a tree, and that they could just be friends without any other complications. She'd spent two whole months under this happy delusion. She wasn't sure if he'd slept with anyone else in the meantime – if so, he'd been discreet about it – but for herself, she hadn't really been in the mood to date, and she'd been a bit gunshy of random hook-ups after the arrest and then the Alan Incident. She'd made the effort to stay in touch with Jeff, though, because he'd just looked so – so forlorn when she'd turned him down. She was right to do it, she was sure of that, but… oh, she wished…

She wished she wasn't sure he'd break her heart if she gave him the chance.

But then at Abed's wrap party he'd given her this look, this indescribable _look_ , all heat and longing and affection and amusement and… ugh, she couldn't even. Two hours and a bottle of champagne later, she'd found herself in the backseat of a taxi with him, making out as if the world was about to end. 

To this day, she couldn't remember who had started it. The journey back to his place was a blur, but the subsequent pleasure they took in one another's bodies was in that freaky high definition, high frame rate quality that Peter Jackson used in the Hobbit movies. And, unlike the Hobbit movies, it hadn't been a lot of hype followed by a giant let-down. Drunk they might have been, but they had the kind of chemistry that tended to explode when left unattended.

She was mixing her metaphors. Abed would be so disappointed.

The morning after, he'd brought her coffee and Tylenol, with a side of mockery. "And I thought my bedhead was bad. You look like a raccoon in an Edward Scissorhands wig."

When she'd hit him with a pillow, the coffee had gone EVERYWHERE, but the awkwardness had effectively been overcome.

That had been early October. Two weeks later, he'd dragged her out to celebrate when a case had gone really well, which had resulted in Brief Relapse #2. She hadn't even been all that drunk, that time – just enough to lose a few inhibitions. A lack of personal space, a pair of particularly high heels, and an elevator that stopped with a jolt had provided the rest of the excuse. And last night she'd thrown a Halloween party, and… well. Welcome to Brief Relapse #3.

Jeff groaned and rolled over, arms snaking around her as he tucked himself against her like the world's snuggliest naked giant. "I fucking hate tequila," he grumbled, kissing her shoulder.

"That's not what you said last night." In fact, if she remembered correctly, there had been a whole speech about why tequila was the best invention ever. There might even have been a rousing chant at the end.

"That wasn't me talking; that was the fucking tequila. Son of a bitch." He fell silent again, this effort at conversation apparently having exhausted him. But his hand was still awake, and had started to stroke gently across her stomach – which was really soothing, given the aforementioned tequila. His face was smooshed against her shoulder, and every breath sent a breeze tickling across her breast, which was kind of nice. A little too nice, actually. She closed her eyes, trying to will herself back to numbness – but that just helped her to remember last night, and the way his arms had surrounded her, the weight of him and the sharp jut of his hips against hers as he pressed her into the bed… Her breathing was speeding up, and her nipples felt tight – and, god, his hand was still moving, tracing lazy, meandering patterns over her skin.

He nuzzled still closer, and slid one leg over hers, and she was pretty sure that the effect he was having on her was no accident, because either that was an erection pressing into her thigh or he'd taken to smuggling zucchini into bed with him. And he hated zucchini.

She kept her eyes closed, trying to decide if she ought to put a stop to this now that tequila was no longer clouding her judgement, or if a hangover was a good enough excuse. Did this still count as part of Brief Relapse #3? She felt him move, and then she gasped as his mouth closed over her nipple, which was still sensitive from last night. He sucked hard, and then tugged gently with his teeth, sending a jolt straight to her clit. "Ohhhhh…" His hand was straying lower, tracing her curves, and she realized she was rolling her hips with every sweep. "Jeff," she said, trying to gather her thoughts together. He slid his entire body over her, moving his mouth to her other breast, and she forgot what she was going to say. Her fists clenched in the sheets. " _Jeff._ "

"Jeff is not at home right now," he mumbled. "Please leave a message."

Then he moved lower, kissing the underside of her breast, softly biting her side, tracing a wet line with his tongue down to her stomach... Her last coherent thought was that tequila had nothing on Jeff Winger.

\---

Despite the temptation, she didn't borrow one of his shirts for the Walk of Shame. She didn't have far to go, and besides, her Halloween costume (Haru from _The Cat Returns_ , replete with ears, whiskers, and school uniform – she was going through a Studio Ghibli phase) was reasonably respectable, even if it had made Jeff's eyes go all dark and glinty when he saw her. 

So, okay, she might have given a passing thought or two about his reaction when she made her choice, but that was understandable given their recent history.

He'd come as a cowboy, in a tight blue shirt and dark jeans, and while she gave him zero points for originality, she had to admit that it had really worked for him. Even Britta – who had taken an instant dislike to him at her previous party – had given him the once over and pronounced him "pretty hot, you know, if you like massive douches in tight shirts, which apparently Annie does".

Given Britta's own romantic history, Annie had chosen to ignore that little dig, but it did bring up a worrying notion: had Britta figured out what was currently going on? She'd told Britta about the first few times she'd slept with Jeff (in graphic detail, at her request), but she hadn't told her about their more recent lapses. Britta had approved both the enemies-with-benefits arrangement and her reasons for ending it, but Annie had a feeling she probably wouldn't approve of this muddy new situation.

Not that it was a situation. Three incidents (or four, if you were counting this morning separately) did not a situation make. It was – it was a situ- _no_ -tion. But she was naggingly aware that the need to hide it from the friend who was least likely to judge her sexual choices was probably a bad sign.

So, when she climbed out of Jeff’s bed that morning, she made a silent vow to herself. There was to be no borrowing of shirts, no kisses goodbye, no acting as though this was any kind of – of anything. And she was going to be strong, from now on. She was not going to get drunk around him, and if she did, she was going to keep a mantra running through her head: _do not sleep with Jeff_. 

It was probably unreasonable to expect them both to behave perfectly from now on, but if she had one more relapse, she would tell Britta and get her to stage an intervention. Or was that too extreme? After all, sleeping with him was seriously addictive, and she couldn't be expected to go completely cold turkey straight away. Two? Would two be enough? Okay, yes, two was the cut-off point. If she had two – well, okay, if she had _more than_ two relapses, she'd tell Britta right away.

That sounded completely rational.

When she emerged from the bedroom, he waved her wordlessly towards the coffee pot. She hesitated, and then shook her head. "I'd better go see what my place looks like," she said ruefully.

"You sure you don't want to fortify yourself beforehand? People were still partying pretty hard when we left." 

Jeff, she decided, ought to come with a warning label: not to be taken with alcohol. Last night, his grin had been full of wicked promise, and had led her to dance with him, drink tequila with him, and then sneak out of her own party – while it was still in progress! – to have sex with him. In the daylight, it was a little tamer, a little easier to resist. This morning it merely made her want to tuck herself into his arms and never leave.

"No, it's okay. I just want to get it over with," she said with a sigh. "I'm sure it won't be that bad." She brightened. "After all, we would probably have heard if anything really terrible happened."

"Oh, now you've jinxed it," he said. "Mark my words; it'll be like the Titanic collided with the Playboy Mansion." He did a little mime that she guessed was supposed to show Bunnies going _everywhere_. Annie rolled her eyes at him, and left.

She let herself in to her apartment with the key she'd actually managed to remember to slip into her pocket before they snuck out, and stopped in the doorway to take in the destruction. Well... it wasn't as bad as he'd predicted.

"At least I own the place," she said aloud, philosophically. Parties at her rental had been a nightmare – her landlord had been completely unreasonable about any kind of damage.

A blonde head appeared suddenly, from the depths of her couch. "Tell me you didn't spend the night with that rat-faced lie-merchant!"

"Gah!" Annie put a hand to her heart. "Britta!"

Even with her hair almost bolt upright, make-up smeared every which way, voice croaky from alcohol, sleep, and – if the smell in the room was anything to go by – a few funny cigarettes, Britta's glare was something to behold. "Tell me. Because I'm trying to come up with a less hideous explanation, like you were kidnapped by aliens who wanted to do terrible experiments on you, or…"

"Or she's secretly an assassin and an urgent job came up," came Troy's voice. "Hey, we should check the news!"

"Or she's actually a cyborg wearing human skin, and she had to go and recharge her battery and put her face in a bucket of rejuvenating goo," suggested Abed, from somewhere else.

Well. So much for those plans. Apparently the intervention was already here, having decided to crash at her place after the party.

"No, I'm not a cyborg," she said wearily, meeting Britta's glare. "What are you all still doing here?"

"Waiting for you," said Britta, at the same time as Troy said, "We got drunk and fell asleep." He waved a hand at her from the floor beneath her couch.

"We were worried sick," added Britta, piously.

Annie felt her temper rise. It wasn't like Britta was perfect when it came to guys, but somehow she always made Annie feel like a teenager who'd sneaked out of the house to see someone unsuitable. "Maybe I did sleep with him. So what?"

"I'm your friend, Annie, and friends don't let friends get involved with self-centered, commitment-phobic lawyers."

"Well, not that it's any of your business, but I'm not planning on doing it again."

Britta's eyes narrowed. "Not _planning_ on doing it again, or not _going_ to do it again? Because it seems like you have these _plans_ , but then you trip up, and his dick just happens to be there—"

"Britta!"

"Look, before you go getting annoyed at me, you might want to think about the reason you're annoyed," said Britta, in her best I'm A Life Coach And I Know Best tone. "Because if you weren't going to keep sleeping with him, what does it matter if I know?"

Annie hesitated, and thought for a moment. "Well, because I... because it's not... dammit!" Because she had wanted to sleep with him again, she realized. She'd really, really wanted to, and now that she knew how much she'd wanted it, she knew she shouldn't do it. It was so unfair! 

Suddenly, she could feel her hangover catching up with her. Her lip trembled, and she held out her hands. "Britta..."

Britta scrambled over the top of the couch and ran to hug her. "It's okay, sweetie, it's okay," she said, stroking Annie's hair. "We're just conditioned by the male-owned media to want the worst kind of men so they can keep getting laid, but we don't have to give in to it because we're better than that. It's okay."

Annie stayed tucked into Britta's comfortingly pot-scented embrace. She wasn't crying, but she did feel upset, and mad at herself. Upset because she didn't want to have to give up the thing she had with Jeff, and mad at herself for wanting it so much. Being around him was like the time in high school when she'd briefly flirted with Adderall addiction: she felt on top of the world for a while, but then she had to deal with the fallout. Back then, Troy and Abed had helped her to stop – and now she had Britta, and Shirley too. She'd get over him. He wasn't all _that_ big a deal.

"Now, let's talk about something other than boys, because right now this conversation is failing the Bechdel test," said Britta.

"Is talking about the Bechdel test a pass or a fail on the Bechdel test?" mused Annie, lifting her head from Britta's shoulder.

"Hmm, good question. I think it's a... pass? But it's not really in the spirit of the thing," decided Britta.

Annie looked around at the disaster area that was her condo. "Okay. Let's talk about what the hell happened after I left," she said.

Britta gave her a panicky smile. "So, hey, are you still friends with that guy, what was his name, Rich? Ahaha, that was a funny story why don't you tell it again!"

\---

Annie was looking for Mr. Right, and she wasn't ashamed of that, no matter what Britta's opinion might be on the matter, and Jeff bore almost no resemblance to him. Okay, sure, he was very – incredibly – almost irresistibly – attractive, but that wasn't even in the top five of her criteria. For the record, these were:

1\. A big heart  
2\. Intelligent  
3\. Brave  
4\. Genuinely interested in what she said / did, and not just because he was supposed to be  
5\. In touch with his emotions  
6\. Not afraid of or averse to being romantic  
7\. Reasonably good-looking  
8\. A good career or clear direction in life  
9\. A sense of humor that wasn't cruel  
10\. Passionate about everything he did, no matter how insignificant

(Bonus points would be awarded for any of the following: kept busy and had a wide range of interests, confident about ordering wine in restaurants, gave her his jacket when it was cold, ran his fingers through her hair when they kissed, gave good hugs, strong arms, nice eyes, a non-weird you-know-what, and abs she could play like a xylophone.)

Until she found him – and she wasn't in a hurry to do that – she was happy to pass the time with Mr. Right Now, in which role she had mentally cast Jeff. But now he was messing with her call sheet, and if he wasn't going to stop trying to hog the limelight she was just going to have to recast him in a supporting role. She wasn't going to waste her energy on a relationship that would only leave her older and more emotionally-damaged. Some might say that made her a control freak, but she liked to think of it as self-aware and proactive.

So, that was it. She really wasn't going to have sex with him again. It was decided. She would get past it, with Britta as her sponsor. The only fly in the ointment was telling Jeff. How did you break up with someone when you were both pretending very, very hard that nothing was happening between you?

But she'd never been afraid to tackle her problems head-on, and she was not by nature a procrastinator, so it was later that same day – after she'd showered and changed and done a preliminary clean-up – that she knocked on his door. He was crunching a carrot stick, and looked surprised to see her, but let her in readily enough. "So how bad was it?"

Annie thinned her lips. Troy and Abed had dealt with the trash and recycling, Britta had cleaned the bathroom, and Annie had made a start on everything else, but there was still a lot more to do – which she'd be doing alone, now that her friends had made their escape. "Well, I won't have to entirely redecorate," she said. "But my rug will never be the same."

He chuckled, and walked away towards where various food items were laid out on an island that stood between the small kitchen and the main room. "I'm making lunch if you want to join me?" Her stomach growled, and he glanced back at her, eyes gleaming with humor. "I'll take that as a yes. It's just salad and cold chicken. I'm not up for anything more elaborate today."

She dropped into a chair at his dining table, feeling tired. "That sounds delicious. I'm starving," she admitted. She hadn’t found time to have lunch yet – and, okay, she was putting off the conversation she'd come here to have, but only for a little while. "I'm not imposing?"

He shrugged nonchalantly, and went back to chopping. In a few minutes, he put two large wooden bowls on the table, one with leafy greens and one with colorful raw vegetables – carrots, bell peppers and the like. He went back to the kitchen and returned with roast chicken on two plates, and then back again to fetch cutlery, glasses, water, and cold wine – the latter of which she declined with a shudder.

They ate in comfortable silence, and she helped him to clear the table when they were done. When she stood up from rearranging his dishwasher, he was watching her, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "What?"

"Nothing," he said, smirking.

She looked from him to the dishwasher, and caught on. "You did it wrong," she huffed, which only made his smirk grow.

"Do you actually take lessons in being this much of a Type A?"

"It'll clean better!"

"I wondered why I was always getting food poisoning," he said, and put a hand to his chest dramatically. "Thank goodness you were here to save us, Wonder Woman!"

She smacked him, and his hand snaked out to grab her wrist and tug her towards him, and before she knew what was happening, he was kissing her up against his sink. She moaned, melting into him and wrapping her arms around his neck. In an instant, she'd forgotten all her resolutions, everything she'd planned to say to him, everything but the feel of him against her, and the urgent need that flared every time they touched.

He scooped her up and turned them, depositing her on the nearest flat surface – the island – and stepping in between her legs. His hands were all over her, following a sensuous path from her hips, up her sides, thumbs brushing teasingly along the outside of her breasts, and curling around to cup her shoulderblades. His mouth never strayed far from hers – it was as though he was stuck there, in an endless loop of giving and receiving pleasure, until she was dizzy and back to thinking he needed a warning label.

In a hurry to move things along, she toed off her shoes and wrapped her legs around his thighs. Then she ran her hands up his sides, working his T-shirt up. When her hands slid over his bare skin, he groaned, and sucked her bottom lip into his mouth. He leaned forwards, pushing her back, and she was forced to let go of him so she could brace herself against the polished granite worktop. She opened her eyes, blinking dazedly at the ceiling as he sucked his way down her throat, his fingers starting to work on the buttons of her sweater.

And then some deep instinct for self-preservation stirred, and she said, "Wait..."

He paused, breathing hard against her collarbone. "Wha—?"

Annie tried to get her thoughts into order. "We said we – ah – weren't going to do this... any more."

"So we did," he agreed. "And yet, here we are again."

She sighed, as his hands strayed. "I know, but I really meant..." She sat up, suddenly. "Britta!"

Jeff looked around wildly. "What? Where?"

"I mean, I promised Britta I wasn't going to do this anymore! I pinky promised!"

Jeff put a hand on his chest. "Jesus. I thought she was standing behind me with a baseball bat or something. Is that all? Just tell her you tried your best, but I was irresistible." He smirked, all annoying charm, and Annie found herself drifting...

"No! No." She sat up straight. "No, I'm not going to do this. I am making a decision, and I am drawing a line."

He moved back and looked at her, a little more clear-eyed than before. Whatever he saw in her eyes, it made his shoulders slump. "Ugh. Really?"

"Yes, Jeff. I'm sorry, but really, no more."

"Not pretendsies no more and we'll keep doing it whenever we're horny and can't keep our hands off each other?"

"No. That way lies badness, and confusing feelings."

He pursed his lips. "Would it really be so bad? I mean, I'm not about to do a complete 180, but I like to think I'm not an irredeemable bachelor. I asked you out, if you remember."

"Yeah, but… Jeff, did you honestly want it to go somewhere? I mean, beyond some amazing chemistry, what do we really have in common? We barely even know each other."

He dropped his eyes, and didn't reply.

"So, yes, you asked me out. And I said no." She hadn't intended to be cruel, but she saw a flicker of a wince cross his face nevertheless, and had to fight the urge to make it better in some way. This had to be done, for both their sakes. She gestured between them. "But we're still doing _this_ – and there'd be nothing wrong with that, if I was as happy to compartmentalize as you seem to be. But I just... I can't keep doing that, Jeff. I'm either in a relationship, or I'm not." She took a fortifying breath. "And we're not. So I have to stop." 

She slid off the counter, and straightened her clothes, feeling her cheeks burn slightly as she slipped her feet back into her shoes. The silence between them was quickly becoming awkward, so she drew in a breath, and kissed him briskly on the cheek. "I'll see you around, Jeff," she said, and headed for the door. It was looking a bit blurry, and she had to blink quickly before it was clear again.

"Annie, wait."

She turned with her hand on the door handle, opened her mouth to ask a question – and then he was kissing her. Hands on her cheeks, sliding into her hair, until she gave an involuntary little moan – and then he changed the angle to something much deeper, and his arms went around her shoulders and waist, crushing her to him, and he was turning her – and then she was falling, clinging to him in brief panic as the world tilted – but no, she was safe, he was holding her. In fact he was dipping her, like in the movies, and it was a good thing he had strong arms because _oh god_ her knees had just given out. Annie could feel her heart thumping loudly in her chest, and clung more tightly to him, just old-fashioned enough to enjoy the sensation of being held captive and ruthlessly kissed.

They'd kissed before, of course – plenty of times, and as recently as two minutes ago – but there was something different about this one. All the previous ones had been a prelude to other activities, an _amuse bouche_ before the main meal. This, though... this was a 'remember me' kiss – the sort of kiss that should have been given amongst corsets and cravats at a railway station in the pouring rain, or covered with sweat and dirt and blue alien blood before diving into an exploding spaceship, a kiss before they were parted for all eternity – a kiss full of longing and passion and regret. Unexpected tears pricked her eyes, so she kept them firmly shut and allowed herself to just feel. This would be the last time.

And then he'd set her back on her feet again – and she wasn't entirely steady, so holding on to his biceps was totally justified. She got the feeling that he'd meant to be cool and suave and unaffected afterwards, but his face was flushed and his eyes were wide and kind of panicky, and they were both breathing hard. She licked her lips, and his eyes tracked the movement, but he didn't move, either towards her or away. "Um," she said, wanting to kiss him again but knowing she ought to leave. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. Instead, he bit his lip, and moved back slightly, eyes clearing. She understood: to follow that with a lesser kiss would be a crime – anything more, and they'd be right back where they started.

"I'll see you around, short stuff," he said, his voice husky.

"Uh-huh!" she squeaked, and fled.

\---


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for your kind comments so far! Here's chapter two. And yes, I'm going to be updating this once a week... it's totally because it makes story sense and not because I'm a sadist at all, I swear! Well, mostly.
> 
> Incidentally, my original plan was to post these around the times of the named holidays, last year. Ahahaha. So that didn't happen. (October 19th!)

It wasn't that she was deliberately avoiding Jeff or anything, but it was three weeks before she next saw him, a few days before Thanksgiving. He was sweaty, stripped to the waist, and chained between two tinfoil-covered lockers. "Abed, what the hell—?"

Abed held up an imperious finger, giving her an annoyed look. "And cut!" he called. He pulled off his headphones. "Improv," he explained. "I thought it might help him to connect with his character. He's a truly terrible actor, you know. He stares into the middle distance like he's reading from a teleprompter, he has no idea how to emote, and he has opinions on _everything_ I ask him to do – but for some reason, my AD, my DP, and my props department insist I should use him. Half the crew are here today, but only three of them have actual jobs to do. There must be something about him that appeals to an audience."

Annie looked up from her contemplation of Jeff's naked chest. "Hmm? Sorry, did you say something?"

Abed narrowed his eyes thoughtfully at her. "And I might just have worked out what it is. Thanks, Annie."

Annie pulled herself together. "Abed, when I said you could use the back room in my lab, I didn't think you'd be doing something like this!"

"Well, what did you have in mind?" asked Abed, calmly – and it was impossible to answer, because of course she should have known. And really, she didn't mind. He'd even warned her that he'd be bringing Jeff, and she'd been okay with that, too – it was just that she hadn't expected to see _quite so much_ of Jeff. It was a bit like giving up alcohol, and then someone coming along and drinking a beer in front of you. A long, cool, golden beer, condensation forming droplets on its sculpted form, dripping down...

"Annie? Annie?" Abed was snapping his fingers in front of her face.

"What?!"

"Interesting. There must be some way to use this without burdening my movie with his complete lack of acting ability."

"Oh god," she muttered, not listening to Abed.

"How was that, Abed?" Jeff was walking towards them, rubbing a towel over his chest to get rid of the worst of the... whatever they'd coated him in. Baby oil?

"Oh _god_ ," she muttered again, under her breath.

"Enlightening," said Abed. "Who would you say your acting influences are, Jeff?"

"Oh, I don't know, um… Neeson? Ford? Willis?"

Abed nodded. "Uh-huh. That explains a few things."

"Huh?"

"I can definitely use you," said Abed, and Jeff looked pleased, if a little confused. "I just need to work out how to exploit your particular gifts while limiting your effect on the overall picture."

"Uh… thanks?"

Abed nodded, and Jeff watched him as he walked away, frowning vaguely.

"Was that actually a compliment?" he asked, and Annie only just managed to drag her eyes away from his chest as he turned to her.

"Hmm? Oh, well, you can never tell with Abed, but probably not. At least he's honest?"

"Yeah, I guess."

They stood around awkwardly for a moment. Jeff draped the towel over his shoulders and hung on to the ends, looking around with interest. "So, this is your lab?"

"Oh! Yes. Abed wanted somewhere he could make into an evil lair and…" she shrugged. "We have all this fun equipment; it deserves its shot at Hollywood fame, too."

Jeff chuckled. "Oh, if he wants an evil lair, he should come to my office," he said.

"Only say that to him if you mean it," she warned. "And don't mean it until you've spent at least three days filming with him."

"Okay?" Jeff looked bewildered. "It doesn't seem all that bad."

"Yeah, you say that now," said Annie, darkly. "You wait until it's 3 AM and you just want to curl up in a corner and die, and Abed has stopped the take because he needs to explain to you – in detail, citing examples – all the reasons why you have to emphasize the first syllable in 'Guadalupe' and what it means for the character, the story arc, the lighting, the props..." Jeff raised his eyebrows, and Annie shook her head. "Long story," she said, with a shudder. "The point of which is that I don't want to be an actress enough to put up with that."

"Your own little Hearts of Darkness moment, huh?" Jeff grinned. "Well, I'm enjoying it so far, but if you see me picking up a heavy object with murder in my eyes, please stop me."

"Deal," she said. "This is a forensics lab; we prefer our murders brought in from outside."

Jeff's eyes widened. "So… you do all that CSI stuff, huh?" he asked.

She shrugged. "I usually say that it's not as glamorous as they make it look on TV, and that's true – it is mostly just about processing thousands and thousands of tests. But a part of me still thinks it's really cool," she confessed.

Jeff chuckled. "I know what you mean. I seem to spend most of my time filling out paperwork, but making the closing statement in front of a jury and just knowing you've got them in the palm of your hand... well, that never quite loses its thrill."

Annie smiled, and tilted her head, struck by something that had been puzzling her. "I'm here because Abed is one of my oldest friends, but why did you agree to do this?" she asked, curiously. "It doesn't seem like your sort of thing."

He looked around him. "I don't know. Why not, I guess? It sounded like fun." He sounded kind of evasive, and Annie frowned. "Besides, Abed's weirdly persuasive, and, well, I didn't have anything that couldn't wait, so I figured I could be generous." She raised her eyebrows, and he gestured to himself, grinning. "This is a work of art, Annie. What's the point of putting in all that time and effort if no one gets to see it?"

She groaned. "I should have known your vanity would come into it somehow," she said, but with a note of affection. She was never quite sure how much he meant all those dreadful, braggy remarks. On the one hand, he was just too human and likeable to be truly as vain and egocentric as he pretended. On the other hand, he really did spend a LOT of time obsessing about his looks, and he seemed sincerely to care about his expensive wardrobe, and how many carbs he ate, and how many reps he did, and whether his hair products were full of ground-up pearls or whatever. So maybe he did mean it? It was a mystery.

"This is good," said Abed.

Annie turned, and jumped when she found herself face-to-face with a handheld camera, the one Abed used for guerrilla footage and what he called his 'sketchbooks'. "Abed! What are you doing?"

"I told you, I'm screen-testing Jeff today," he said, hitting pause and lowering the camera. "And this is much better than what I was getting before. Is there any way I could get you to read for a role playing opposite him? His face is at least fifty percent more expressive when he's talking to you."

"Abed, no. I'm happy to support you and help out in any way I can, you know that, but remember what we agreed about me, and..." she glanced at Jeff. " _Certain types_ of people?"

"People with whom you are having or have had a personal relationship are not to be used as tools in my Machiavellian schemes," said Abed, sighing faintly. He looked at Jeff, who was looking a bit bemused. "We drew up the agreement when we were teenagers," he explained. "Annie was the one who brought Machiavelli into it."

"Somehow that doesn't surprise me," said Jeff, giving her a look that made her feel warmed and unsettled at the same time.

"I was a well-read teenager," she said, defensively.

"Mm-hmm."

"High school was a difficult time for me!"

"Uh-huh, but it sounds like you figured out a way through that."

Annie couldn't help the little grin of pride. "Well, actually, I learned three non-academic skills that have served me well ever since," she said. "How to wing my eyeliner, how to pick a lock, and how to bring my enemies to their knees without breaking a sweat."

"I'm so turned on right now," said Jeff.

Annie laughed – and realized that they were flirting. Again! She had to stop this. "Look, um, I have to go – I just dropped by to see how filming was going, and I've got a kickboxing class, so... I'll see you around, Jeff."

"Okay," he said, raising his eyebrows in surprise at the abrupt end to the conversation.

She headed for the door and stepped through into the main office, but found Abed had swiftly caught up with her. He stopped her with a hand on her elbow, and let the door swing shut behind them before speaking.

"Should I fire Jeff from my movie?" he asked, going directly to the point as always. "It'll be easy enough to find a reason, if that's what you want."

Annie, moved, patted Abed's chest. "Abed, no – it's fine," she assured him, touched by his concern. "Things are a bit weird between me and Jeff right now, but there's no reason that he shouldn't be in your movie. He's a good guy, underneath it all."

"Okay. Good. Because I really want to use him. I would have given him up if it was going to make you unhappy, though. Bros before hos." Abed held up a fist, pinkie finger extended, and they did the old, familiar handshake – the first one they'd developed, and the one they always ended up going back to in times of stress. It reminded her of the squeak of gym shoes and the ring of the bell, the smell of acne cream and bubblegum lip gloss, shelves full of individually-decorated three-ring binders, her first real kiss with Troy, and the time she and Abed had kissed in front of the whole school for the play he'd directed in their final year – plus a few times in rehearsal that had left her warm and tingly but ultimately never went anywhere. Sure, at times it had been a bit of a soap opera (thank god teenage hormones were a thing of the past), but she wouldn't have changed it for anything.

"Do me a favor, Abed? Try to make friends with him," she said, surprising herself. "I think it would do him good."

"Okay," said Abed, equitably. "I'll give it a shot. No promises, though. It's not exactly my wheelhouse."

\---

Troy and Abed were hosting their day-before-Thanksgiving-potluck-party that year, as always. It was the evening before because of various family commitments on the day itself, although over the years that had pared away until Shirley was the only one who really had a traditional Thanksgiving as well, and the rest either had a day to themselves or (more frequently) just hung around and kept the party going, in a low-key way. At least it gave them the chance to eat the ridiculous quantities of food that they always seemed to make.

When Annie arrived at their apartment, toting two salads, some prepared vegetables, and a bakery box, she was a little disconcerted to find Jeff slouched in front of the TV with Troy, long legs stretched out in front of him, watching the game. She smiled at him in greeting, and he nodded back, but made no move to get up. Annie waited until he'd looked away, and then grabbed Abed, pulling him across the room with her.

"What's he doing here?" she hissed.

"I'm making friends with him, like you said," said Abed. "I thought that was what you wanted?"

"No, I... well, I thought..." She trailed off, caught in her own plan, and her eyes were drawn to Jeff and Troy as they shot up in their seats, cheering a touchdown. "Okay, fine," she sighed. "I'm glad, I guess. Here, I brought sufganiyot. It's a bit early but I know they're your favorite. The bakery had mini ones, so I got jelly _and_ custard ones."

"Ooh, gimme," said Abed, eyes lighting up as she handed over the box of sugar-dusted pastries. He instantly took one out and bit into it, closing his eyes in bliss. "The stuff that dreams are made of," he said, and then held up the box. "Troy!"

"Special Jewish donuts!" said Troy, and leaped over Jeff's legs in his hurry to get across the room. He stuffed an entire pastry into his mouth, and chewed with difficulty, somehow managing not to squirt jelly all down himself. "Jff, cm gt wn!"

Jeff waved a hand lazily. "I don't want to spoil my appetite," he said.

Annie smiled. "That's why I bought the mini ones," she told Troy. "But don't eat any more now, or you won't want dinner." She looked around. "Where are Britta and Shirley?"

"Shirley's running late. Britta's in the bathroom. She's been there a while. I think she's smoking again."

"Ah." Annie took the box of sufganiyot through into the kitchenette, and began to unpack them onto a plate. She found that Troy had followed her, and slapped his wrist when he reached for another one.

"Aw, mooooom," he complained, but the cute act had long since lost its power over Annie.

"You can have more later."

"Ugh." He stuck his head into the fridge instead, and fished out two new bottles of beer, twisting the top off and handing one to Annie when she held out her hand. He leaned back against the counter, and twisted the top off of his own beer, watching her. Annie waited, sipping her beer. "So," he said at last, "you and Jeff?"

"There is no me and Jeff," said Annie.

"Why not?"

Annie gave him a look. 

Troy shrugged. "He seems like a cool guy," he said. "He brought fancy beer and kettle corn from, like, one of those stores where all the fruit is laid out on straw and the sodas cost five bucks."

"And while that sounds like an excellent reason to date him..."

Troy waved a hand. "Oh, stop it. I know you, remember? You both like each other. You keep doing that looking thing."

Annie drew her gaze back quickly from Jeff, who was tilting his head back to drain one of his fancy beers. The bobbing of his Adam's apple was strangely hypnotic. "What looking thing?"

"You know, that thing. Where you look at him until someone notices you doing it, and then you pretend like you're totally busy with something else, like rearranging the special donuts even though you know that if you keep touching them it makes the sugar go all sticky."

"I do not!" protested Annie. She put down the last donut haphazardly, carelessly, and licked her fingers clean.

Troy shrugged. "He does it, too," he offered. "I mean, I haven’t seen him rearranging donuts yet, but he picks the labels off his beer when you're around, and you know what that means." He nodded significantly.

"That he's getting a head start on the recycling?"

"And you're only sarcastic to me when you're deflecting," he added.

"Trooooy," she whined, driven to extremes. "Why are you trying to get me to date Jeff?"

"Sorry," he said, not sounding at all sorry. "But a guy's gotta do what he can to protect himself. You remember the agreement? And don't give me that look, you know Abed will hold us to it."

"I doubt even Abed can make us all move to Salt Lake City and marry one another, just because we've all hit thirty and still haven't found The One," she said, dryly. Troy gave her a pitying look. "I mean, he can't... can he?"

"This is Abed we're talking about," said Troy. " _Abed_. You remember prom, don't you?"

Annie shuddered. "Okay, I take your point," she conceded. "But that doesn't mean I should date some guy just because he brings you fancy beer and popcorn and keeps looking at me."

"No, it doesn't," agreed Troy. "But would it really hurt to give it a try? Three more years, and then boom, Salt Lake City, here we come. My grandma would never speak to me again – but there are downsides, too."

Annie absent-mindedly began rearranging the donuts again. "So you're giving Jeff your stamp of approval?" she asked.

"You tell me. You already boned the guy. He must have had something you liked?" At her tiny smirk, he rolled his eyes. "Aside from _that_ ," he said. "I know you, Annie. To an outsider, they might seem like random hook-ups, but you never do anything without a plan."

She was having trouble creating a pyramid, so she dismantled it and began again. "No plan," she said, quietly. "Not this time. It just... happened."

"Huh. So a guy who makes you, Annie Edison, forget all your plans and just live in the moment? No, why would you want to date him, it sounds terrible," he said flatly, adding, "In case it wasn't clear, I was being sarcastic."

"I got that, thanks." She turned a particularly plump donut, trying to find a way to make it balance. "You don't think that sounds like a recipe for a disaster? I mean, I have high standards, and I know that might make me sound difficult, but I don't see why I should compromise my—"

"Annie," interrupted Troy, pulling her hands away from the donuts and holding them. "First of all, please, _please_ leave the donuts alone. Second, what exactly is the recipe for a disaster? Because it sounds like you'd get, like, a cake with whipped cream and ice cream and fruit and caramel and stuff, and smash it all up and eat it, and that sounds kind of awesome, and I hope Shirley gets here soon because I'm starving. But third, I do have a point, and that point is, don't get so hung up on following the game plan that you ignore the opportunities in front of you. Don't date Jeff if you don't want to, but if you DO want to, then don't NOT date him just because he's not what you expected." He squinted up at the ceiling, muttering to himself. Then his brow cleared, and he nodded decisively. "Yeah, that came out right. I rehearsed it with Abed earlier today."

"You know, someday you and Abed will stop trying to interfere in my love life," said Annie, but she squeezed Troy's hands nevertheless.

"Yeah, and when that day comes, you'll take up with, I don't know, a doctor who donates his time for free to help children in third-world countries and teaches guide dogs in his spare time, and you'll get married and have 2.4 children and be bored out of your mind for the rest of your life," said Troy, cheerfully. "I know you, Annie Edison. You need us around to stop that from happening."

Annie laughed, looking away to where Jeff was watching the game. "Yeah, because I'm always meeting perfect guys," she said, wryly.

\---

Once Shirley arrived with dessert, Annie dragged Britta – who had emerged from the bathroom smelling suspiciously pine-fresh – away from grilling Jeff about his reasons for choosing law as a career, and Jeff from rebounding the interrogation back onto Britta with questions about why she felt the need to delve into people's psyches, and they all settled around Troy and Abed's large dining table. 

Abed had chosen the table because it was round, and had a convoluted explanation for why, taking in the legends of Camelot, _The Untouchables_ , French new wave cinema, and his monthly D&D game. Annie preferred an oblong table, so she could feel like she was truly hosting the meal, but while Abed approved of the aesthetic, he felt that the storytelling potential was greater in the round. "We are all the protagonist of our own movie," he said. "In the round, no one has to feel like a side character – anyone could be playing the lead, and this could be a scene from any of your stories, because you've all been given equal weight, an equal cut of the pie. Whether your movie is a thriller, a romance, a comedy or a tragedy, all are equally valid, even if only one other person wants to see it. No: even if _no one_ wants to see it."

There was a thoughtful pause. Annie glanced at Jeff to see how he was taking this kind of conversation. He looked pensive. Or possibly bored.

"Plus, with a round table, you can all see our centrepiece," said Troy. They all looked at it. It had taken Annie a while to get it, but she was now fairly sure it was _The Addams Family Values_ version of the first Thanksgiving, as portrayed with Star Wars action figures. If so, it was at least thematically on point. She wasn't sure the Padme/Sacagawea thing really worked, though, and maybe having all the Pilgrims as Stormtroopers was a _little_ harsh... although the tiny buckled hat they'd made for Vader was kind of adorable.

"Yes. That is... true," said Shirley. "Britta, would you please pass me the potatoes?"

There was a general hubbub of "please pass the", "you should try some", "ew no I hate", "oh well more for me", "Troy and I made the", and "but why is it BLUE?" as everyone filled their plates. Then there was a lull as everyone tucked in. Annie glanced up from her turkey and cranberry sauce (but WHY was it blue?), and found Shirley looking at her. She quirked her eyebrows, and Shirley threw a quick, inquiring look towards Jeff – who was talking to Troy about the disastrous second half of the game – and then stared penetratingly at Annie. Annie pointed surreptitiously to herself and shook her head, then nodded quickly towards Troy and Abed – only to find Abed was watching this byplay with interest. She widened her eyes in alarm, but either Abed didn't get the message, or chose to ignore it. He turned to Shirley.

"I invited Jeff," he said.

Everyone fell silent, and Jeff glanced quickly at Annie.

"Abed, we've talked about this kind of thing," said Annie, evading Jeff's gaze and hoping against hope that she could head off the discussion.

"Oh, I'm not interfering in your love life," Abed replied, and Annie wondered if she should just try to drown herself in the gravy right now. "I felt he would add an interesting new dynamic to the group. We don't have a representative of the adult white male demographic."

"And we don't need one," said Britta, pointing a forkful of sweet potato at Abed. "No offense, Jeff, but your demographic represents itself all over the place. We were doing just fine without you."

"None taken," said Jeff, raising his eyebrows.

"This also brings us to a 50/50 male/female split, and a 50/50 split of white people versus people of color, if we're including Jewish in the 'white' category, which is arguable but I think largely true in Annie's case," continued Abed, who had apparently decided to play the role of Annie's Aunt Sylvia in the 'let's make Thanksgiving dinner as awkward as possible' routine. "There's also an interesting possibility for conflict." He pointed. "Shirley hates lawyers."

"Abed, that's not nice, and not true—" Shirley tried to protest, but Abed continued on ruthlessly around the table.

"Britta hates lawyers and men."

Britta simply raised her fork in acknowledgement.

"Annie has a weakness for charismatic liars who are secretly a little broken."

"I do not—!"

"I'm not—!"

Jeff and Annie spoke at the same time, met each other’s eyes, and fell silent.

"And Troy has been the only alpha male in the group for too long and was getting cocky."

"I need conflict to progress my character," agreed Troy, through a mouthful of potatoes.

"And where do I stand in this, other than as the pain in everyone's ass?" asked Jeff, with an odd mix of exasperation and curiosity.

Abed regarded him thoughtfully. "Well, you came," he said. "Which argues that either you're interested enough in Annie to put up with all of this, or that you genuinely want to become friends with the rest of us. Or that you're an insensitive ass with nothing better to do, but let's discount that as a possibility for the time being."

"Wow, that's generous, thank you," said Jeff. Probably even Abed picked up on that level of sarcasm.

"If we assume the former, then you're hoping to impress her by dealing calmly with all the lovable idiosyncrasies exhibited by her diverse friend group."

"Emphasis on 'idio'," Annie muttered.

"If the latter, then I have to assume that you're as twisted as the rest of us, despite an outward appearance of man-about-town normalcy. The first situation is doomed to failure, unless you fall in love with us as well."

"Ooh, ooh, like in _While You Were Sleeping_!" exclaimed Britta, hopping up and down in her seat. Everyone stared at her, and she stopped, and hunched quickly over her plate. "Not that I watched that crappy, conformist romantic comedy, whatever, shut _up_."

"The latter situation seems unlikely," continued Abed, after a pause, "unless you've reached some kind of crisis point in your life where you've found you can no longer maintain the fiction of your humdrum existence and are looking for something else, some way to fill the void in your soul that up until now you have ignored and repressed with wine, women and song. Or wine and women, anyway, I can't picture you doing karaoke voluntarily." Abed pursed his lips, considering Jeff. "On reflection, I'm hoping for that. It suggests that we're all side characters conveniently arranged with a series of quirks designed to give you a lesson in your journey to self-discovery, but I prefer it to the conventional romance."

Jeff stared at him. "Wow. You've really got me pegged," he said.

"Really?" asked Abed, with interest.

" _No_."

"No? So why are you here, Jeff?"

"Abed!" protested Annie.

"I'm beginning to wonder that myself," gritted Jeff.

"Abed, this is no way to treat a guest in your home," said Shirley, glaring at Abed.

"Oh, I don't mean that you're unwelcome," said Abed. "In fact, I suspect that, at the moment, you have a greater portion of the audience's sympathy than I do."

"Yeah, I think I preferred it when you were calling me an insensitive ass," said Jeff.

Abed nodded. "I'm just curious. Do you even know why you're here?"

"I don't know. Because I was invited?" said Jeff, grumpily. "Because I didn’t have anything better to do?" He glared at his plate, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else. "Because I kind of like you guys and I wouldn't completely mind if we were better friends?"

Troy and Abed exchanged a look. "That's cool," said Troy. "We invited you because we wanted to be better friends with you, too, Jeff."

Jeff looked up, and for a fleeting moment he looked more unguarded than Annie had ever seen him. "Yeah?"

Troy shrugged. "Sure. Why not?"

Jeff leaned on the table with a hand over his eyes, and sighed heavily. "Is this some sort of hazing ritual?" he asked. "Is this a bit? Am I being punk'd?"

Britta gave a bark of laughter, and as though that was a signal, everyone relaxed.

"No. This is just us," explained Abed, tucking into his food. "Welcome to the group."

Somehow, Annie saw with amazement, everyone had settled down again, taking the conversation in stride. She expected this from Troy and Abed... and Britta... and of course Shirley knew them all well enough to put up with it... okay, really it was only Jeff that had surprised her. She'd half expected him to stand up and walk out, the moment her friends started to be, well, _themselves_ a little too strongly. But it seemed he was more able to roll with the weirdness than she'd thought. With a resigned little shake of his head, he'd gone back to his meal as well.

"What about you?" she asked, throwing the question back to Abed. "How do you see your role, this evening?"

Abed tilted his head, considering it. "I'm the instigator," he said. "I observe patterns of behaviour, and I meddle. Sometimes it's because I believe I'm helping you, but mostly it's for my entertainment or because I want things a certain way," he said, honestly.

Annie nodded. She'd known that, after years of experience, but maybe it would help Jeff to hear it. "And what were you doing just now?"

Abed looked around. "Pushing things towards how I feel a Thanksgiving meal should be," he said. "That is, a flashpoint for airing any unresolved issues that might be affecting the group dynamic."

"As dramatically as possible," added Annie. Abed shrugged, looking a tiny bit repentant. Annie looked at Jeff, who was watching the conversation. "Just remember," she told him, "no one's forcing you to be friends with these people."

Jeff's grin was like a flash of lightning. "So long as no one minds if I exact a little revenge, I think I'll be okay," he replied.

Abed looked a little nervous, and Annie gave Jeff a conspiratorial wink. "Go to town," she said. 

\---


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is late, with the holiday here I forgot all about it!

Annie was having the kind of day that tested her nerves. She felt like she was constantly on the brink of disaster, pulling off last-minute saves. She'd discovered a hole in the blouse she'd put out to wear that morning, resulting in a last-minute wardrobe rethink. So in a moment of daring, she'd decided to wear something new, as yet untested on audiences – respectable enough for work, but with a few little tweaks that edged it towards costume. The jacket and skirt were black, skirt cut to just above the knee, and tailored to highlight every curve. The jacket showed flashes of scarlet lining. The blouse was oyster silk, with a scalloped collar – perfectly respectable, but something about the sheen and delicacy and cut of the fabric suggested that she kept a pearl-handled pistol in her purse and a gumshoe on retainer. She rolled and curled her hair, and put on her reddest lipstick, her seamed stockings, and her highest heels. It was going to be a quiet day, nothing much in her planner and no urgent deadlines, so she should have time to test-drive the outfit.

So of course, as soon as she walked through the door – balancing purse, lanyard and coffee – she was called into an urgent meeting with the directors to discuss the installation of the new lab equipment. Fortunately, she'd been reviewing the plans just the day before, so she had the information at her fingertips, and was able to look cool and in control for every question thrown at her. After being grilled for half an hour, she was set free – and found, as soon as she was back at her desk, half a dozen emails of an increasingly tantrum-throwing nature in her inbox. Metaphorically girding her loins, she waded into the firefight, and sorted it out with a couple of polite but firm emails. She was appropriately rewarded with a contrite response, so she finished her coffee, refreshed her lipstick, and dove back in.

After that full-on start, the day seemed determined to zoom from disaster to disaster, like an out-of-control firework. She missed lunch due to a rush order on tests that meant everyone with lab knowledge had to pitch in and help, and in the afternoon new parts arrived for the lab equipment (which wouldn't have been a problem if the rest of her morning had gone to plan), and there was a minor crisis when one of her team cut her hand quite badly and had to be taken to the nearest emergency room to get stitches. She left work an hour late, and had to hurry straight to her yoga class, without time to stop off at home first. Fortunately, she was prepared for this eventuality, and had her clothes and mat in the car.

Two hours later, she was exhausted and wrung out, but felt as though she'd successfully slain the dragon – or at least tamed it for the time being. Her legs were aching, more as a result of the shoes she'd worn all day than of the class she'd just taken, and as she walked to her car, what she wanted most was a large glass of wine and a friend. She pulled out her phone and scrolled quickly through her contacts, pausing when she came to Jeff's name. They were friends, right? Surely they could hang out together, alone, without falling off the wagon again? She pictured Jeff seated on her couch, with his long arm stretched along the back, and that warm smile he had when he lowered his barriers... and a pang of longing shot through her, far too potent and disorienting for her to trust herself in such a situation. She swallowed, and shook her head. It was too complicated. She just needed to steer clear of him until these inconvenient feelings passed. Instead, she sent a group text to Britta and Shirley.

Annie: [wineglass emoji]?

Shirley: Yes!!! Need 1 after 2day. Just checking w Andre.

Britta: Sure! Rough day?

Annie: Not bad, but exhausting. I should be home in ~15.

Shirley: Andre says [okay hand]. And I just made brownies!!! [heart]

Annie: Great. I will provide [bowl of ice cream] [wine bottle]

Britta: Sold, Genevieve Bujold. [birthday cake] [cherries] [drooling smiley] [martini] [wineglass] [cocktail] [beer]

Shirley: See you there! [smiley face]

Annie: [thumbs up] [smiley face] [rainbow]

 

After a quick detour to pick up ice cream, Annie raced home, her energy buoyed by the thought of a girls' night. She'd barely got through the door when the buzzer sounded, making her jump. It was Britta, with a bag of Doritos and a bottle of room temperature white wine. Annie pointed her towards the kitchen, and went to change out of her workout gear and have the world's fastest shower. When she emerged in her pjs, still in the process of knotting her hair up in a loose bun, Shirley was there, along with her brownies. She and Britta had taken up occupancy of the couch, so Annie carefully lit her menorah (it was the fourth night of Hanukkah) and then settled cross-legged on a giant cushion, and gladly took the large glass that Britta handed to her. "This whole day felt like one long battle," she sighed, after a long drink. "But I won in the end."

Shirley nodded sagely. "One of _those_ ," she said. "You know, some days I feel like anyone who gets up and goes to work day in, day out should get an award for bravery."

"Or a citation for persistent stupidity," suggested Britta.

Annie toasted her. "Sometimes I think I should have listened to my mother," she mused, staring into her glass. "Find a man, settle down, stay home, raise kids. And then I remember that would probably end in a headline in the local paper: 'Housewife's Alcohol and Drug Overdose Ruled Tragic Accident'."

"Having a man and some kids isn't the end of your life," Shirley pointed out. "Sometimes it can be supportive and inspiring, and a reason to stop and think what it is you really want, like for instance start your own small business venture."

Annie realized belatedly that she might be offending her friend. "Oh, no, I know," she agreed, quickly. "Sorry, that's my mother's voice." She put on a bossy tone. " _Stop messing around with that stupid career, girls will never get far in science, and the longer you put it off, the less desirable you'll be, can't you hear that loud ticking noise, you'd better hurry up and find a man with money and start pumping out babies, then you can live vicariously through them_ – with the addendum that you can only do that if they're boys, because if they're girls your duty is to get them to work on the next generation as soon as possible. Which is one of the many reasons why she and I no longer have a functional relationship." She gave them a crooked grin. "But that's her, not me. Maybe if I was a housewife, I'd actually end up leading the local PTA in open rebellion against the school board because I disagree with their curriculum. I do have strong feelings about education."

"And then you'd get into local politics, and end up running for mayor," added Britta. "I can just see you Leslie Knope-ing it up in Greendale."

"Actually, that doesn't sound too bad. Quick, ladies, find me a man who'll support my burgeoning political career!"

"To the Wifemobile!" cried Britta.

Annie chuckled, and sipped her wine, before grabbing a handful of Doritos and settling down further into the cushion. "I'm not sure I even believe in the biological clock," she said, thoughtfully. "I'm nearly twenty-seven, and I haven’t felt it yet. Shouldn't I be starting to panic by now? I mean, your kids are adorable, Shirley, but they don't make me feel broody. I love playing with them, but I also love being able to hand them back, and I don't feel like my life is empty without one of my own. If anything, it's exhaustingly full."

"I'm pretty sure that's just normal," said Shirley. "If you wanted to take them home with you, _then_ I'd be worried. Don't get me wrong, I love my boys, but even I don't want them around me 24-7, and there are times when I'd happily hand them over to the nearest responsible adult, just for some peace and quiet. Hell, I've even been known to willingly hand them over to my in-laws. Anyway, you're young, you've got plenty of time to decide if you want to have kids. And if you don't, there's nothing wrong with that," she added staunchly, if a little unconvincingly.

"I feel it," said Britta, unexpectedly. "Tick, tick, tick." She glanced up, but couldn't seem to hold their gazes, and looked back down at her wineglass. "Stupid, isn't it?" she said, bitterly. "I don't even believe in an actual biological clock. I believe with everything in my soul that it's society that creates this pressure on women to procreate, and not some biological imperative – but I can't seem to ignore it, either. I mean, I'll be thirty-five on my next birthday, and I haven’t found a man I'd trust to babysit my kids, let alone provide them with half their genes. And what would I do with a baby? Let's face it, I'd probably take it to a music festival and lose it."

Shirley patted Britta's arm, and Annie leaned forward to grab the nearest body part she could reach (Britta's ankle). "I'm sure it'll happen if you want it," said Annie, impulsively. "But you've got YEARS before you need to start worrying about it. And you'd be an awesome mom. You'd be kind, and fun, and spontaneous – wouldn't she?" she said, prompting Shirley.

"Yeah, sure," said Shirley, dubiously. "So long as the kid had a GPS tracker and knows how to work a can opener."

"Shirley!" said Annie, reprovingly.

Shirley rolled her eyes, and tried again. "You'd be the fun mom that all the other kids love," she conceded. "But most importantly, Britta, you'd love your kid. That's all they really need. Everything else is window dressing."

"Aw, you guys!" said Britta, and reached out her arms, throwing one around Shirley and welcoming Annie when she dove into the hug.

"So does this mean you'll be willing to babysit this Saturday, after all?" asked Shirley, as she rubbed Britta's back.

"Yeah, dream on, sugar-bear," said Britta, muffled.

\---

An hour later, they were pleasantly buzzed, and had just settled around her dining-room table to eat the latkes that Annie had made with the intention of not getting completely trashed on a weeknight, when there was a sharp knock on her door. Annie looked at the other two, who were performing a synchronized eyebrow lift.

"Expecting someone?" asked Britta.

"No," said Annie, and set down her fork.

When she opened the door, Jeff was already wearing his most devastatingly charming smile, while leaning on the frame and brandishing a bottle of wine. "Hey, I know we saaaaa..." His words trailed off as his gaze was dragged down, seemingly without his volition. It went from her eyes down to her lips, to her collar, down her torso and her legs, down, all the way to her bare toes, and then slowly back up, skimming over her pajamas and her face, all the way up to her messy hair, and then back down, bouncing briefly to her lips before settling back on her eyes. When he'd completed the journey, he looked as flushed and breathless as she felt.

For a long moment they just stared at one another. How long was it since she'd last seen him? Days? It felt like _years_. Damn, had he always looked this good? With his eyes, and his... tallness...

There was a noise from the room behind her, and he darted a look over her shoulder, breaking their gaze. His expressive face tensed for a moment, then he closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, he had himself back under control.

"I'm interrupting," he concluded. "You've got friends over."

"No, no," she said, finding her voice at last. "Well, I mean, yes, but it's just..." She trailed off, torn between the desire to grab him by the shirt and pull him towards her bedroom, and the memory of her resolution not to do just that.

"It's probably a sign," he said, giving her a wry smile. "Do not pass go."

"Is that Jeff?" called Britta. "Come on in! Join us! We're being all girly and shit, you can help us braid our hair and paint our nails and gossip about boys – ow, Shirley, that hurt!"

From the safe concealment of the doorway, he made a face at Annie, and she suppressed the urge to giggle. "Fun though that sounds," he said, pitching his voice for them to hear, "I think I better decline."

"You sure?" she asked. After all, nothing could happen with Shirley and Britta there. "It's not as terrifying as they make it sound. I'm sure you'd be welcome." She thought about it for half a second. "Well, they might grill you about your love life, your political and religious views, and your knowledge of small-business law – but they'll mean well."

"Well, you know, that sounds _delightful_ , but no, I'll give it a pass." He stepped back, and gave her a warm smile. "You have fun," he said, softly.

After she'd closed the door behind him, she took a moment to lean on it and regain her composure before turning back around.

"Did we scare him off?" asked Britta, with a certain amount of satisfaction.

"Why was he here?" asked Shirley.

"He just stopped by to see if I was busy and wanted to hang out," said Annie, determinedly casual. "We are still friends, after all."

"Uh-huh," said Shirley, side-eyeing her. "So why couldn't he hang out with us here? What's he planning that you've got to be alone?"

"It's nothing like that!" protested Annie – although she was pretty sure it was _exactly_ like that, mainly because that was what she'd been thinking, too. "I think he just didn't want to interrupt what was clearly a girls' night."

"Riiiight," said Britta. "And if we hadn’t been here, would you have invited him in?"

Annie hesitated. She wasn't sure if 'yes, of course, because we're just friends', or 'no, of course not, that would be stupid' was the right answer, but by then her mind had conjured up a picture of Jeff, and the way he'd looked, framed in her doorway, the heat in his eyes, his parted lips...

"Oh, Annie," said Shirley, sympathetically.

Annie put her hands over her face. " _Fuck_ this," she said, with strong feeling. "Why can't I just turn it off?"

"In fairness, he is hot," said Britta, critically.

Shirley hummed her agreement. "That is a cute ass."

"Yeah, and talk about shoulders, right? He’s got them in _spades_."

"Oh yeah. I'd like to see what else he's got under there. If that man ever wants extra cash, he can come do some yard work for me, so long as he's prepared to do it shirtless, mm-mm."

"Guys," groaned Annie. "This isn't helping!"

"We're just sympathizing with your need to jump his bones," said Britta, somewhat less than sympathetically. "It's not like you like him or anything, after all." Something about Annie's expression seemed to catch Britta's attention, and she leaned forwards. " _Do_ you?"

"Well, of course I like him, but I don't _like_ him, like him," said Annie.

"Good. Because he may be good-looking but you know he's a shallow douche, right?"

Annie's only response was to roll her eyes. Britta claimed that her douche-ray vision was infallible, but it never seemed to stop her from dating terrible men.

Britta seemed determined to point out all the reasons Jeff was not a good prospect. "Is he actually any good in bed? Men that good-looking are usually selfish as hell – right, Shirley?"

"As a Christian and a married woman, I couldn’t say," Shirley said primly. Britta gave her a look, and Shirley relented. "But hell yes, men like that think that looking pretty is all they need to do to keep you happy." She shook her head. "Give me a Brad Pitt in the streets and a Danny DeVito in the sheets, any day."

"Shirley!" Annie protested, laughing.

"So which is he?" demanded Britta. "Brad or Danny?"

"I'm not telling you that!"

"Oh, see that blush?" said Shirley. "He's a Danny!"

"Must've been an awkward teenager," Britta diagnosed. "He had to make up for it. He probably still has body issues up the wazoo, which is why he always needs to look like he just stepped off the cover of GQ." She grimaced. "Okay, now I've made myself care about his stupid manpain," she said. "I need more wine."

"Britta, it's not nice to speculate about people like that," Annie said.

"Oh, come on," Britta scoffed, as she topped up her glass. "Don't you think all his cronies sit around speculating about what you're like in bed? No matter what popular culture would have you think, men are by far the worst when it comes to gossiping."

Not for the first time, Annie wondered about Jeff's friends. Of course he had some – right? Okay, so she'd never heard him referring to any of them by name, except for a handful of colleagues who seemed to be occasional drinking buddies rather than what Annie would categorize as friends. But maybe that was just because he was a very private person. "I don't think he's discussed me with anyone," she temporized.

Britta rolled her eyes. "Of course he'd _say_ that," she began, but Shirley shook her head.

"Okay, enough, Britta," she said, in her 'play nice or else' voice. "Annie likes him, so as her friends, we should be supportive."

"Speak for yourself. Personally, I'd rather stage an intervention."

"Sometimes friends need your understanding, Britta, and not your militant attitude towards any relationship that doesn't have your personal stamp of approval."

"Guys! I don't need support and understanding, and I don't need an intervention. I just need a bit of time and distance," said Annie. "I like spending time with him, and I liked, you know, going to bed with him. He's very attractive, and really not as douchey as you think, Britta." Britta tried to object, and Annie continued quickly. " _But_ I do agree that he's not boyfriend material. Once my libido has come to accept that Jeff Winger is off the menu, I'll be fine. It's not like I'm in love with him or anything."

\---

At about half-past ten, Shirley phoned Andre to pick her up, and had a quiet, tense-sounding conversation. Annie watched through narrowed – if bleary – eyes, and took a thoughtful sip from the large bottle of water Britta had just handed her (after she confiscated Annie's glass of wine with a muttered, "You'll thank me when you wake up tomorrow").

"What's up, buttercup?" asked Britta, as soon as Shirley finished her call. Shirley looked up, eyebrows raised. "And don't give me that what-could-ever-be-wrong-God-guides-my-every-step look. You've been acting weird this evening."

"I have not—" tried Shirley.

"You have," agreed Annie, and if her words were very slightly slurred, that didn't make it any less true. "Are you and Andre arguing again?"

"No, no, it's nothing like that," said Shirley, looking harried.

"Aha! So it is something," said Britta.

Shirley rolled her eyes. "Yeah, congratulations, Nancy Drew." She shook her head. "It's nothing, really."

"Oh well, if it's nothing, you go on home," said Britta, waving a careless hand. "Forget we said anything."

Shirley glared at her, caught between not wanting to talk, and wanting to argue.

Annie leaned forwards and put her hand on the other woman's knee. "Shirley," she said gently. "Really, you can tell us anything. We're your friends and we love you."

Shirley sighed heavily. "It's just... it's the shop," she said. "Some damn fool is trying to buy us out, and you know we had kind of a bad summer, and I keep thinking maybe I should take the offer. But I don't want to sell!" She smacked her fist on her knee. "I put my heart and soul into getting this business off the ground, and I'll be damned if I let some corporation buy me out! They'd go and turn it into a Starbucks or a Subway. It'd break my heart," she admitted. "But then I think, well, I have my family to consider... maybe I should sell? My shop is important, but not as important as my babies. But what kind of example am I setting for them if I don't fight for the thing that I love?"

"Oh, Shirley!" Britta threw herself forwards clumsily and wrapped her arms around the other woman. "What can we do to help? Can we protest?" Her eyes lit up. "I can make a sign condemning big business, and lock myself in a cage!"

Shirley managed a smile that was more of a grimace, and patted Britta's shoulder. "Thank you," she said. "I'll – I'll give it some thought."

"We can get your profits back up! I can help you plan an – an advertising campaign!" said Annie. She sat up, and looked around for some paper and colored pens. "It'll be amazing! We'll have flyers, and promotions, and people handing out free samples... Ooh, we could get Jordan and Eli to dress up as muffins! They'd be so adorable..." Britta handed her a pen and some paper, and Annie started to sketch out ideas – although for some reason it was remarkably hard to focus, both visually and brain-wise.

"Ladies, please – I appreciate the help, I really do," said Shirley. "But dial it back a little, okay? An advertising campaign mightn't be a bad idea, but it's not a desperate situation yet. I just need things to pick up a little, and I'll be back on steady ground. People practically break down the doors when I bring out my Christmas berry brownies," she added, hopefully. "And there's my winter soups range, they're always popular this time of year… I just need to hold my nerve for a little longer."

"Okay," said Britta, doubtfully. "But you know we're here for you if you need support, right? I mean, I feel a certain amount of professional responsibility…"

"Oh, don't start all that again," said Shirley. "I came to you because I wanted to find my inner businesswoman, remember? This path was _my_ choice. So it's all on me – credit and blame." She lifted her head with great dignity, and gazed into the middle distance. "I am my own woman."

"Here, here!" said Annie, toasting her with the bottle of water. "You go, Shirley!"

Shirley gave her a fond but exasperated look, and then looked pointedly at Britta..

"It's not my fault she's such a lightweight," protested Britta. Shirley kept looking. "Okay, okay, I'll get some crackers into her or something," Britta grumbled, rolling her eyes.

"See that you do," said Shirley, just as her phone chimed. She checked it. "Andre's nearly here, so I'm going to meet him downstairs." She hauled herself upright with a groan. "Oh, I'm gonna regret this tomorrow," she muttered, and then leaned down to give Annie a kiss on the forehead. "Take care of yourself, sweetie," she said, and then did the same to Britta, who looked a little startled. "You, too," she said. "And I'll see you both soon."

Annie sank back into the couch, watching as Shirley gathered her things and waved goodbye from the door. She was getting sleepy, and her reactions were a little slow, so the door closed with a soft click as she waved back.

After that, time got a little hazy, until a plate appeared on her lap, with a handful of crackers and some cheese. She looked up at Britta, and smiled sweetly.

"Eat that, and keep drinking the water," Britta instructed, dropping down next to her with her own plate. "Honestly, I thought by now you'd be better at this."

It was too difficult to work out what Britta meant, so Annie just ate the crackers like a good girl, and then leaned her head on Britta's shoulder.

"It's hard work," she said. "Being an adult woman."

"Yeah," agreed Britta, moodily. "And it doesn't pay nearly well enough."

"Mm." Annie was actually fairly well-paid, but she knew Britta sometimes struggled, so she tactfully kept quiet. "We'll help Shirley keep her business open," she said, firmly. "That's what friends are for, right?"

"Well, not exactly," temporized Britta. "But we'll do our best, and if she does go out of business, we'll give her lots of emotional support to get her through."

Annie tested that out in her head. "It's not the most rallying cry," she sighed. "But you're probably right."

Britta's shoulder moved when she chuckled. "You're a good person, Annie," she said. "And a good friend."

"Even if I do have terrible taste in men?" Annie asked sleepily.

"Eh, nobody's perfect," Britta told her. "It adds to your charm. If you were as together in your love life as you are everywhere else, you'd be unbearably perfect, you know."

"Hmm." Annie's brain was getting muddled, and she couldn't quite work out if that was a compliment or not, but it sounded nice so she let it slide. Her eyelids were extraordinarily heavy, and she gave up fighting them, sagging closer against her friend. Britta smelled good – like that expensive shampoo that she used _because it's produced ethically, Annie, and not because it makes my hair really glossy, that's just a bonus, they should probably list 'good karma' as one of the active ingredients_ , and red wine, and an undertone of herbal cigarettes. She was a bit too bony to be a really comfortable pillow, but on the other hand, she was warm. "You're the best, Britta," she said, yawning. "Have I ever told you that?"

Britta's voice was warm and indulgent when she replied. "All the time."

"Girls," said Annie, holding her hand up, eyes still closed.

"Girls," agreed Britta, high-fiving her gently. "Now go to sleep, Annie."

"Mm-hmm. Okay," said Annie, and obliged.


	4. Chapter 4

Annie's Christmas Day was going to be quiet this year. Shirley and Britta were with their respective families, and although she'd been invited to Shirley's celebration, she'd tactfully declined. She had made the mistake of going one year, and it had been a little overwhelmingly 'let's convert the heathen'-ish. She'd also promised Britta that, if she didn't hear to the contrary, she was supposed to text her with an alleged emergency at about 8pm, but they probably wouldn't meet up, because post-family-visit Britta was a Britta that needed space. She had in the past spent the day with Troy and Abed, neither of whom celebrated Christmas (at least not in the religious sense, although they did have a mish-mash of secular rites that grew more complicated every year), but this year they'd decided to take a trip to California, with a visit to Abed's mom and half-brother on the way. Or possibly it was a visit to Abed's mom and half-brother, with a trip to California to compensate if it went badly. Either way, they were out of town.

But Annie didn't mind the quiet. Her plans for the day were simple: she was finally going to tackle the spare room and turn it into a tiny home office, and then she was going to take herself out for a nice meal. She'd already bought all the painting supplies she needed – because of course all the stupid stores would be closed – and got the boys to help her move out the larger pieces of furniture before they left on their trip. She'd spent the last couple of days skirting around a tall dresser and a small writing desk that had taken up temporary residence in her living room, and they'd have to wait until Troy and Abed were back before being moved again, but she would survive. She'd briefly considered asking Jeff to help, but she was reasonably sure that, even though they were friends now and not just neighbors-with-benefits, he still wouldn't want to help her move furniture. Besides, she was assuming that he'd spend the holidays with his family, wherever and whoever they were. (Really, the man was a complete mystery!)

This last notion, however, was thrown into doubt midway through the day, when she heard his unmistakable footfall overhead. She stopped, roller in one hand, and looked up, waiting for... she wasn't sure what. A few moments later, there was the sound of his door closing, and she nodded to herself, and continued to layer sunshine-yellow paint onto her wall.

" _Sorry I'm late, pop, traffic was terrible, and it wasn't at all that I'm a lazy bum who doesn't like to get up and get on with the day,_ " she said, in imitation of his imaginary conversation. " _Hey, that smells great, mom, is it a giant turkey that I'll pick all the skin off of before I eat it? Great! Here, have some generic presents and don't ask me about my love life._ "

She painted carefully around the edges of a light switch.

" _Well, okay, there was this girl. She's really pretty, and we had a lot of fun together, but when I tried to get more serious, she backed off._ " Annie stopped, and frowned at the wall for a moment, before continuing. " _Because I'm clearly not the kind of guy who would ever actually take her home to meet you, or really let her into my life in any meaningful way, and I just want an easy, low-maintenance kind of relationship that's all about sex and never actually leads to anything real._ "

She leaned away from the wall with a huff, realizing she'd run out of paint. Before she refilled her roller, she turned the speakers on her iPod up loud, to drown out her thoughts.

A couple of hours later, she'd just finished the accent wall (a soft mauve), and had paused to go to her kitchen and get a drink when she heard his door again. She looked up, startled, and listened, tuning out the burble of her music in the other room. She could just about make out the sound of shoes being kicked off – one, then the other – after which his footfalls were too soft for her to audibly stalk.

"Too brief for a family visit," she mused aloud. "Did you go to the gym?" She squinted up at the ceiling. "Jeff, where ARE all your family and friends?" she demanded quietly. "Did you just spring into existence fully-formed, like Athena?" She thought about it for a second. "Because I could totally see the Greek gods connection."

Then she spent a few minutes picturing his naked body, before realizing what she was doing and getting back to work.

When she went back into the spare room, she turned down her music again, but heard nothing more from Jeff, which meant he was up there, alone, on Christmas Day. So was she, of course, but he had that WASP-y look that kind of suggested that, even if he wasn't religious, he'd probably spent a good proportion of his childhood (assuming he'd had one) waiting up for Santa, eating turkey, wearing hideous sweaters, kissing under the mistletoe, and... whatever else people did. From all the movies that even she had somehow managed to see (she rather thought it had been one of Abed's projects), she knew that Being Alone On Christmas was generally considered a big deal, much more so than regular being alone.

Maybe he hated Christmas. Maybe he'd had a sucky childhood, and had cut all ties with his parents – much like she had done. Maybe... maybe he was bad at making emotional connections, and was up there alone, with no one to call.

Well, crap.

She thought about it as she cleaned up the paint and rollers and pulled back the splattered plastic coverings to just around the edges of the wall (she was going to have to do another coat tomorrow, but in the meanwhile she didn't want to track paint through her apartment). As she showered, picking tiny speckles of dried paint from her skin and hair, she tried not to picture him puttering around aimlessly, eating a solitary – but no doubt healthy – meal, and then watching TV, sipping a scotch, and waiting for the day to be over so the world could get back to its normal business. As she dried off and got dressed, she thought about how they'd agreed to be friends, and what her other friends would say or suggest. She wondered if he'd decorated, and wasn't sure which was worse: the idea that he had, and had no one to share it with, or the idea that he hadn't bothered because it was only him.

She checked her watch as she put it on. It was nearly 6 PM. She stared up at the ceiling for a long time, before finally making a decision, and reaching for her phone.

One phone call later, she was set. She grabbed her coat and her purse, and slipped into her shoes, automatically checking her appearance at the mirror by the door. She looked flushed – which was stupid, but she was going to grant herself a pass this time, because this had the potential to be very awkward indeed.

He answered the door just as she was wondering if she should knock a second time. "Annie?" he said, frowning, and leaned out to quickly look past her, as if he half-expected her to bring a party. "What are you doing here?"

"Christmas isn't really my thing... not being Christian," she shrugged. "Being, in fact, Jewish. I kind of expected you'd be with your family, though." She paused, but he didn't respond, just continued to stare at her, not looking particularly inviting. She felt the butterflies in her stomach kicking up a notch. "But clearly you're not," she continued nervously, "so I thought I'd invite you to join me in one of the traditions of my people on this festive occasion." Here she paused, because this was kind of a tired old joke and shouldn't be rushed.

"Which is?" he prompted, at last.

Annie smiled. "Get your coat," she told him. "We're going for Chinese."

\---

He made her wait, of course. After she'd told him the name of the restaurant, he'd raised his eyebrows, and then looked down at himself. "I haven't been there, but I hear it's fancy. They won't let me in wearing sweatpants."

So he changed, and artfully dishevelled his hair, and when he was finally ready – honestly, it was lucky she'd given herself some time to persuade him – he ushered her out of his door with a hand on the small of her back. He was wearing a sleek, dark suit and a pale grey shirt with no tie, and she couldn't feel at all sorry that they might be a little late because he looked really good. Like, distractingly good. And he smelled _amazing_. She had to resist the urge, in the elevator, to lean into him and breathe in deeply. As it was, she forgot to press the button for the parking level until he reached past her and pressed it for her, throwing her a quizzical look.

"You look beautiful," he said casually, and the sudden descent of the elevator car must have made her stomach swoop, because it couldn't have been his simple compliment. "I like your dress. Is it new? I don't think I've seen it before."

She looked down at herself, having utterly forgotten what she was wearing. It was a little emerald satin number that she'd worn to the office holiday party. "Oh! Yes, this – yes, it's new – I bought it," she stammered, before getting hold of her tongue. Next she'd be telling him she got it from a store, with money. Oy.

"You always look like a movie star from back when," he said, his voice low. "I don't know how you manage it." He gave her a look that did indescribable things to her insides. "I can just picture you all dolled up in silk and diamonds."

The elevator dinged open, narrowly saving her from pushing him back against the wall and attacking him with her lips. The walk to his car – he'd insisted on driving, since she'd made the dinner reservation – gave her time to find her composure again, and she managed to settle herself in the passenger seat without saying or doing anything stupid or reckless. Why had she done this again? Oh yeah, because she'd felt sorry for him – god, she was such an idiot! Maybe she should text Britta and get her to fabricate some kind of disaster...

Then Jeff clicked his seatbelt into place and reached for the emergency brake, his little finger brushed her thigh, and her mind went blank.

"We're here," said Jeff, a moment later, and Annie blinked. She was holding on to her seatbelt with a desperate grip, and they were in a parking lot that seemed oddly familiar... oh, yes, it was the one outside Diang Yu's Chinese Restaurant. "You zoned out," he added, smiling.

"Um, yeah," she said, a little blankly. Apparently the white-hot images that had flared across the inside of her head had been just that: inside her head. She wondered dizzily if a person could get addicted to another person somehow, and if so, whether the withdrawal symptoms might include vivid hallucinations. Maybe they could submit themselves for a study to prove once and for all that human pheromones really did exist. 

Maybe they could come up with a cure.

Banishing all thoughts of control conditions to the darkest recesses of her brain, she conjured up a bright smile.

"Sorry, I've been painting all day," she said. "I think it's catching up with me. I'll be better when I've had something to eat."

As they got out of the car, he frowned at her. "I hope you ventilated properly."

Annie waved her hand. Did he think she was some kind of amateur? "I did, I did. Besides, I got some of that low-VOC paint – the regular kind gives me a migraine. It's just low blood sugar, that's all." It was kind of sweet that he was concerned, though.

"Painting seems like an odd thing to do today," he said, thoughtlessly. Annie gave him a sideways look, and waited for the realization... ah, there it was. "But then, of course it's not if it's just a regular day to you, and it's not like I did anything to celebrate Hanukkah."

Annie smiled, and Jeff opened the restaurant door for her. "Actually, going out for a Chinese meal is kind of a family Christmas tradition," she conceded, as they approached the host. "Hi. Annie Edison – I called earlier and changed my reservation to a table for two?"

The man checked his list. "Ah yes, Ms. Edison. Please come this way." He gathered two menus and led them to a secluded corner – but really, the whole restaurant was full of secluded corners, and she'd already chosen it before she invited Jeff, so it meant nothing. She just hoped he understood that. She didn't want to give him any misleading ideas. She'd just have to be clear that this was a friend thing.

Which would be much easier if she could stop picturing him sweeping the glassware aside and taking her her passionately on the white linen tablecloth, of course.

Annie cleared her throat and tried to focus on the menu, feeling a blush warming her cheeks and grateful for the restaurant's dim lighting. There was a tiny tealight flickering in a vase between them, which was a little bit too romantic, but it would probably look odd if she leaned over and blew it out. And then they'd be alone in a darkened corner of this dark restaurant...

Menu. Menu menu menu.

They ordered wine, and agreed on crispy duck as a shared starter, because Annie had been craving it all week, and Jeff had never tried it. "So what were you painting?" asked Jeff, when the waiter left, and Annie gratefully leaped into a description of her plans for a home office, which led to a discussion of the Ph.D. she was thinking of going for, to follow up her Master’s.

Jeff grimaced at the idea of voluntarily going back to school. "Honestly, I think I'd rather lose my job and my house and have to sleep in my car," he said. "I got through undergrad, and law school, but thank god I don't ever have to go back."

"Don't you like learning?" asked Annie, who had always struggled to grasp the concept of people who didn't enjoy school. "All that knowledge out there, just waiting to be absorbed..."

Jeff quirked his eyebrows. "You know what I learned in college? How to scrape by with minimum effort. A skill I am forever grateful for acquiring."

Annie rolled her eyes. "You work hard at your job," she pointed out.

He shrugged. "I enjoy my job. I mean, I don't enjoy every aspect of it, but when I make senior partner, those are the parts I'll hand over to some poor minion. Until then, I do what needs to be done to get there."

"So in fact the minimum effort in order to get where you want is actually quite a lot of effort," said Annie. "I hate to tell you this, Jeff, but you're a secret overachiever."

"Ugh, just because working hard gets you hot, Annie, doesn't mean it gets the rest of us off." He grinned at her. "Wait and see how much I can _not_ do when I set out to not do it."

"But don't you think, when you get to senior partner level, that there'll be something else you want? What about – a – a Ferrari? Or a Caribbean cruise?"

"I will be making obscene amounts of money," he pointed out. "Ob. _Scene_. I'll be able to afford a Ferrari and a Caribbean cruise – although I'd prefer a '68 Mustang and a trip to Italy."

"Okay – okay – but what if you get married and have kids? Won't you want them to go to all the best schools? That costs money. _Lots_ of money. You might even have to sell your Mustang."

"Eh, the little brats can go to the nearest public school," he said, unconcernedly. "I did, and I made out okay."

Annie shook her head mournfully. "It's your wife that I feel sorry for," she said.

Jeff's teeth glinted in the candlelight. "Yeah, but you know there'd be compensations."

It was as if they both realized at the same time where their words were taking them. Jeff looked abruptly down at his plate, his grin disappearing, and Annie took a huge gulp of wine and looked away across the restaurant, silently cursing herself. His _wife?_ God.

Mercifully, their starter arrived then, making it easy to change the subject. The crispy duck came in several parts, and assembling them into pancakes was a deliciously messy procedure.

"This is so good," she said, as she loaded a tiny, thin pancake with shredded duck and scallions, and slathered it with plum sauce. "I always tell myself I'm going to try something else, but then I get here, and I can't resist it. And their Mongolian lamb is _amazing_."

Jeff bit into his pancake and closed his eyes. "Mmm. You've been right so far. I look forward to trying it," he said.

"I haven't actually been here since last Christmas," Annie said, after she'd polished off two pancakes in quick succession. "This year has flown by so quickly."

"Yeah, I know what you mean. So this is a family tradition? Do I need to be worried that a clan of Edisons will descend on me at any moment?" He glanced around as if concerned.

Annie groaned at the thought. "Ugh, no. Going for a Chinese meal is the tradition, but I found this place for myself." She kept her eyes on the pancake she was preparing. "I don't really speak to my family. My mom is... kind of toxic. When they got divorced, dad left her, and me and my brother, and in fact the entire state of Colorado. He tried to stay in touch, but what with the new city and new job and new girlfriend and all, he was mostly too busy. And my brother, well..." She shrugged. "I talk to him sometimes, but we don't have much in common."

"Ah." Jeff ate in contemplative silence for a while. "I get along okay with my mom," he said at last. "But my dad left when I was a kid. That was kind of his thing – leaving me. He used to leave me at home and go to the nearest bar. He left me at the zoo once when I was seven. Good times. So he was no great loss."

His voice was brisk, but Annie pictured a small, tow-headed boy, all alone at the zoo, waiting for someone to come back for him, and felt her heart crack. "You didn't want to spend today with your mom?" she asked.

Jeff shrugged, looking profoundly uncomfortable. "She's not on her own," he answered evasively. "She spends Christmas with my aunt." He smiled fondly. "When they get together, they don't stop talking, and I can't get a word in edgewise. They hated each other as kids, but now it's like they're the only two who really understand each other. You know? Like they've got their own private language – they never have to finish a sentence. Mom can just say _Louise_ in a particular way, or give her a certain look, and my aunt gets it."

Annie smiled. "That must be nice," she said, wistfully. "To be that in tune with someone. But I guess that's not exactly your scene?"

Jeff swirled the wine around in his glass, not meeting her eyes. "I don't know." He looked up at her at last, and Annie felt her heart pound heavily in her chest. "Sometimes I think it might not be the worst thing in the world."

\---

After that rather intense moment, they both backed off a little, moving the conversation into more neutral topics, such as Jeff's client who was currently divorcing wife number seven and taking out his bad mood by suing several small businesses, the viral advertising Abed was trying out for his new movie, and the many ways in which the condo association was a bunch of assholes. The meal was leisurely, talkative, and they lingered over the dim sum. 

When Jeff switched to water because he was driving, Annie did so too, overtly in solidarity, but inwardly she just wasn't sure she could trust herself if she lowered her inhibitions even a fraction more. His mere presence was impairing her judgement, and when they were drinking coffee and waiting for the check, she had to bite her tongue to stop herself from mentioning the ice cream in her freezer. She knew what was likely to happen if she invited him home, and she wanted it too much, the denial was almost painful. That couldn't be right, could it? It couldn't be healthy, to feel that out of control around someone. If she wanted to be his friend – and she was surprised to find that she really did – she had to find a way past the desire he lit in her. But that couldn't last – surely it would die down eventually.

God, it had to die down, or she was going to go out of her mind!

Annie insisted on paying, in an effort to be clear that this wasn't a date, and in an uncharacteristic display of tact, Jeff didn't argue. Perhaps he too was afraid of the edge on which they were walking. 

They drove back to their building in thoughtful silence. As the elevator doors closed, shutting them in together, she felt her nerves rising, along with the crazy fear that she was about to do something really spectacularly stupid. It took all her effort to hold still and not speak. She folded her arms, and gripped her elbows, surreptitiously sinking her nails into her own skin.

The car stopped at her floor, and the doors opened. She hesitated for a long moment before stepping through. Jeff's hand shot out, and he held the doors open, and Annie turned to stare at him. For a long moment, they stood there in silence, either side of the elevator doors – hovering on a dangerous brink.

Jeff cleared his throat. "Thanks for dragging me out," he said huskily. "I had a great time tonight."

"I'm glad." She tried to smile, but couldn't quite manage it under the intensity of the feelings rushing through her. "Normally my Christmas is kind of quiet and reflective."

He looked surprised, and maybe a little hurt. "Sorry, I didn't realize I was—"

"No, no! I mean that it was nice to have company for once."

"Oh. Yeah. For me, too." A smile flickered over his face. "Maybe I should celebrate Christmas the Jewish way every year."

"Maybe you should. I had a great time too, Jeff."

There was a long pause. The elevator doors tried to close, but were held back by Jeff's arm, stretched out in a way that she couldn't help but see as inviting. It would be so simple, she thought dreamily. All she would have to do was step forward...

"Okay," he said at last, and maybe it was her fevered imagination, but she thought he sounded disappointed. "Goodnight, Annie."

He stopped fighting the doors. Annie opened her mouth to protest, to make a last-minute move through the closing gap like Indiana Jones going after his hat – but she hesitated, and it was just long enough for the doors to close.

It was actually painful. It felt like there was a string knotted around the place where her ribs met, and it was somehow attached to him, and as the elevator pulled away, it was being stretched further and further...

She found she was leaning against the elevator doors, palms pressed flat against the cold metal, like she'd been pulled there. The slight breeze that came through the crack in the doors blew gently on her face, and she realized that her eyes were wet. God, this was stupid. She was stupid. Everything was stupid.

She pushed herself away from the elevator and forced herself to walk normally to her door. She found her key. She opened the door. She stepped in. She closed the door. She put her key on the hallway table. She slipped off her heels. She walked through into the living room. She stopped.

Abruptly, she spun on her heel and headed back to the front door – but paused with her hand on the handle, breathing hard. What was she doing? She'd sworn – she'd promised Britta. The only way out was through, she told herself, grimly. If it felt bad now, it would be so much worse if she gave in, and then had to go through this again later. At least this way they both kept their dignity.

She turned and stalked through her apartment, suddenly unreasonably furious, but in an undirected way that made it much worse. She flung herself down onto the couch and grabbed the remote, turning the TV on – but caught three seconds of jingly Christmas music and screamed, stabbing at the 'off' button and then throwing the remote across the room. She put a pillow to her face and tried to control her breathing – which worked for about five seconds. The pillow went the way of the remote, and Annie headed for the kitchen, suddenly needing that ice cream in her freezer.

Having collected her tub of Häagen-Dazs salted caramel, she turned on the bath tap, balancing the heat until it was as hot as she could stand, and threw in a bath bomb she'd been saving for a special occasion. After some consideration, she added a handful of the pretty but pointless bath confetti that she almost never remembered to use. She stared at the tub as it slowly filled, but soon her impatience overcame her once again, and she left the ice cream to soften by the tub and headed to her bedroom, unhooking the back of her dress with one hand as she went. Dress and stockings went into the laundry hamper, and clad only in her underwear she opened a certain bedside drawer. She stood there, contemplating the contents, until she slammed it shut again with a noise of frustration. She didn't want _that_ – or at least, she didn't want it from something so impersonal. Her craving was very specific, and nothing else would do.

This was ridiculous. Why was she even bothering to resist? After all, they'd done it before, she reasoned. It wasn't as if it really mattered if they did it again – one last time, because it was the season and they were both alone, and all that crap. She could just throw on a coat and go up there – she was pretty sure he wouldn't turn her down if she went in all guns blazing. He might be a little confused by her change of attitude, but he was never going to resist a half-naked woman on his doorstep, right? She just needed something to take the edge off...

...And, god, she sounded like an addict. No. She could be strong. Through and out, she told herself. Through and out, and someday she'd look back on this and laugh.

She gathered a chilled bottle of wine, a large glass, and – in a last-minute change of mind – a favorite dildo from the drawer. She locked herself in the bathroom, arranged toy and wine along the side, next to the ice cream, lit some candles, and slid into the scented water with a sigh.

She took a few sips of wine, trying to relax, but she was too angry and frustrated and – frankly – horny to mess around for long. So she set the glass down and reached for the toy. She touched it against herself, closing her eyes as she ran it down her stomach, and raising one knee so she could press it where she most needed it. The solid pressure against her over-sensitized flesh made her whimper at first, but as she moved it, it felt rubbery and unsatisfying, no matter how hard she pressed, and she was all too aware that it wasn't what she wanted.

With a groan of annoyance, she dropped the toy, and used her fingers instead, trying to picture some nameless, faceless man servicing her every need – but her mind kept straying to Jeff. Jeff in the elevator, giving her a quizzical look; Jeff in the car, the confidence of his hands as he shifted gears; Jeff across from her in the restaurant, eating dim sum—

Annie came hard, crying out, shuddering so violently that water sloshed onto the floor. When she'd come back down, breathless and satisfied – physically, at least – she opened her eyes and stared up at the ceiling. 

Gently, she knocked her head against the edge of the tub.


	5. Chapter 5

It was January, and Annie was feeling cranky. Half the lab was down with the flu, the weather was cold and damp and unpleasant and showing no signs of improving, everyone was in a bad mood, and there was no end in sight.

And then, in the middle of a freezing, irritating and endless week from hell, she got a text from Jeff.

Jeff: _Need to talk. Are you free tonite_

Her heartbeat sped up. She'd only seen him in passing since they'd spent Christmas Day together, so the message was out of the blue – and sounded serious. She bit her lip, and wondered what it could be about. Then a second message came through.

Jeff: _Bring ur friend Shirley_

Okay, what the hell? Quickly, she typed a reply.

Annie: _What's it about?_

Jeff: _Too much to xplain on phone. U free after work? Ur place_

Annie sighed irritably, but good manners got the better of her. She phoned Shirley, and after a quick confirmation that she was free after she put the boys to bed, she replied to Jeff.

Annie: _Shirley can make it at 8pm, is that okay?_

Jeff: _Ok c u then._

She grimaced at the phone. Whatever it was, it involved Shirley, and she couldn't see how that could possibly be good – he barely knew her, after all. Why couldn't he just tell her? Why did he have to be so mysterious? Why couldn't he use proper grammar in his texts?

"You have a stupid face," she told his icon. Feeling slightly better, she went back to work.

\---

That evening around half-past eight, Shirley (who had already been unusually irritable when she arrived) was beginning to grumble about no-good lawyers with no consideration for how their actions affected others when Annie's doorbell finally rang. Annie hurried to open it, and stepped back to let in Jeff, followed by an older man, a complete stranger to her. He was maybe in his sixties, and had a sheepish, defiant air, like a small child being taken somewhere to apologize.

"Annie, Shirley, this is Pierce Hawthorne," said Jeff, wearily. It looked like he'd come straight from the office, after a long day. "Pierce, this is Annie – about whom you need to know nothing – and Shirley Bennett. Of Shirley's Sandwiches."

And then Annie was clearly the only one left in the room who didn't know what was going on, because both Shirley and Pierce responded, in voices full of shock and loathing, "YOU!"

Pierce immediately rounded on Jeff. "I see what this is! This is a trap!" He made for the door, but Jeff – apparently anticipating this move – slammed his arm out in front of it. "You can't hold me here against my will! I'll sue!"

"Pierce," said Jeff, patiently, "I'm your lawyer, remember?" 

Annie was rapidly getting an idea of what was happening.

"I'll get another lawyer! I'll get a dozen lawyers!"

"And I'm not holding you here against your will," continued Jeff. "You're free to go—"

"Good," said Pierce, making for the door again.

"—once you've heard me out."

Technically, that was still holding Pierce against his will, Annie thought, but held her tongue. If this jerk was suing her friend, she was more than happy to participate in something a little grey-area-ish.

Jeff caught her eye, and gave her a look that was so tired and fed up, so clearly saying 'I've been dealing with this asshole for hours and I'm at the end of my rope and I could REALLY USE SOME HELP', that she managed to gather up some politeness, and found a smile.

"How about we all sit down," she suggested, indicating her couches. "Shirley?" She raised her eyebrows at her bristling friend, until she grudgingly nodded, and went to sit in the armchair. "Pierce, Jeff, can I get either of you a drink?"

"Yes please," said Jeff, gratefully. "I would kill, or at least severely maim, for a glass of wine."

"Bourbon, with a splash of spring water, two ice cubes, no lemon," said Pierce, as if he was ordering at a bar.

Annie firmly kept her smile in place, like she'd learned from her mother. "I'll see what I can do," she said.

She returned with a glass of wine for Jeff, and a glass of amber liquid for Pierce. "I don't have bourbon," she said, "but I have a very nice single-malt Macallan." Belatedly, she remembered that Jeff – who was somewhat of a whiskey connoisseur – had mentioned the brand to her when she'd been talking about replenishing her liquor cabinet, post-Halloween party. He shot her a surprised look, and she gave an embarrassed smile, feeling like she'd been caught doodling his name in her schoolbook.

"Hmph. I suppose it'll have to do," said Pierce, dismissively. Annie gritted her teeth and thumped the glass down in front of him.

"Pierce, behave," said Jeff, in a remarkably dad-like tone. Pierce shot him a look, but subsided with a grumble. "Okay, before we start, I need to make one thing clear. In this instance, I am not acting as Pierce's lawyer. It would be unethical, because I know both parties, and more to the point it could get me fired if my boss found out what I'm trying to do."

"And what are you trying to do?" asked Shirley, with more than a little suspicion.

Jeff gave a put-upon sigh. "I am trying," he said, "to stop this case before any real damage is done."

Shirley and Pierce immediately began objecting. "Excuse me," said Annie, loudly, over the top of them all. "I don't understand. What case? Shirley, you didn't tell me someone was suing you."

"I only found out yesterday," said Shirley. "This old fool is claiming he got food poisoning after eating one of my sandwiches." She turned on Pierce. "How dare you! My place is the cleanest, most sanitary restaurant in all of Greendale!"

Jeff shook his head. "Shirley, he has an affidavit from his doctor that he had food poisoning, and one from his personal trainer who advised him to eat egg salad on rye with tomatoes that day, and one from his assistant who recommended your place."

Shirley sniffed. "Lies," she said, succinctly.

Jeff shrugged, confirming nothing. "Maybe, but how are you going to disprove them? Do you know how much a case like that could cost you?"

"And I can get more proof," said Pierce, smugly. "I can get witnesses who'll swear they saw me buying the sandwich, eating the sandwich, throwing up after the sandwich... whatever it takes. I'll bury you," he threatened.

"Annie, I think blood will wash out of this couch, wouldn't you say?" asked Shirley, sweetly.

Jeff held up his hands and stepped between them. "Look, there's no need for all that. The case is stupid, we all know that."

"My doctor—"

"Was very useful in the past when I got those DUI charges dropped," agreed Jeff. "But this is about someone's livelihood, and it's time to stop playing."

"You can't tell me what to do," said Pierce, stubbornly. "You're not my father."

Jeff huffed in exasperation. "Do you want me to tell them what this is really about?" he said.

Pierce turned his head away, and refused to answer. 

"Okay, fine. I'll tell them," Jeff threatened. 

Pierce shrugged. 

"I'm gonna tell them."

Pierce still refused to look at Jeff. "I don't care."

"This isn't about some petty vendetta," Jeff began, turning to Annie and Shirley. "This is about real estate."

_"You can't make me care."_

"You've heard of Hawthorne Wipes?" asked Jeff, ignoring Pierce's muttering. "Well, meet the owner. Pierce here inherited the business from his father, and has continued to expand it. The Hawthorne fortune isn't just held in the wipes business, of course – Pierce has his finger in many pies. They had kind of an upsurge in profits recently due to, uh, a surprisingly effective marketing campaign."

"Hawthorne Pride Wipes!" said Annie. They all looked at her, and she blushed. "The song's very catchy. I use it for my spin class." She started humming, doing a tiny dance to the song in her head.

Shirley cleared her throat, and Jeff, who was gazing at Annie with a faraway look in his eyes, straightened. "Um, yeah. Anyway. Pierce here decided to invest in a mall. He wants his name on something."

"But there's no mall in downtown Greend... ohhh." said Annie, catching on.

"Yeah, exactly. He's been buying up all the businesses in the block, but Shirley, yours is the only one that refused to sell. So he came up with a plan to put you out of business – against the advice of his lawyer, I might add."

"You can't stop progress," said Pierce. "The Hawthorne Mall will open in a year, no matter what I have to do to make sure that happens! No one turns me down. Even Jeff's former colleague sold to me, although that was probably because his second-rate little law firm was about to go belly-up. What was his name, Ellen?"

"Alan," said Jeff, sliding Annie a quick glance. She felt a frisson of schadenfreude, and raised her eyebrows inquiringly. "Not my handiwork," he said, as an aside to her. "I just stopped handing him ladders when he dug himself a hole."

"Oh," Annie mouthed, absorbing this new information.

Shirley laughed, bitterly. "Well, I can save you the trouble," she said, unexpectedly. "Shirley's Sandwiches won't be in business for much longer."

"Shirley!" said Annie, sitting forward and reaching for her friend's hands.

Shirley gripped back tightly. "You know things have been difficult this year, what with one thing and another," she confessed to Annie, painfully. "I thought we'd pick up, but… well, unless a miracle happens, we'll be closed by the Spring." She glared up at Pierce. "So you can just stop this foolish court case, it's not necessary!"

"So was the offer you mentioned a while back – was that from Hawthorne Wipes?" she asked. Shirley nodded mournfully. "Oh, Shirley...!"

"I thought I could turn it around," Shirley said. "I was so sure. Oh Annie, what am I going to do?"

Annie wrapped her arms around Shirley, and gave Jeff a look, widening her eyes significantly and nodding towards Pierce. If he had a plan, now was the time to put it into action. Jeff pursed his lips thoughtfully, and twitched his eyebrows inquiringly. Annie nodded: she'd handle Shirley if he worked on Pierce.

"Pierce. A word, if I may," said Jeff, commandingly, and whisked Pierce away to the kitchen before he could object.

Once they were out of earshot, Shirley stood up and started pacing. Annie went after her and turned her around, gripping her hands. "Shirley. If Pierce were to make you an offer again, as good as or better than before, would you take it?"

"What's the point of thinking about that?" said Shirley. "He won't, not now, will he? I mean, if I can just get him to stop suing me, that would be a weight off my mind..."

Annie shook her head. "No. I won't accept that. And I'm pretty sure that Jeff won't, either. He's in there right now, talking Pierce into making you another offer for your shop. All you'd have to do is say yes." Shirley still looked doubtful. "Shirley, I know it would be a great loss to you and your family, after all the hard work you put in to get it up and running – but if you had the capital, you could invest it into another shop somewhere else, relaunch Shirley's Sandwiches somewhere better! You said it was a really good offer—"

"But now he knows I'm going out of business," objected Shirley. "All he has to do is wait."

"No. Trust me. Trust Jeff. We're going to make this right, I promise." It felt reckless, making promises based only on a shared look of understanding that _this was the plan_ , but somehow she felt in her gut that it was right, that she knew what Jeff was doing, and that he could pull it off.

"Okay," said Shirley, resolutely. "If you can get him to make an offer, I'll accept. But it has to be at least a fair offer – I won't take anything less than the business is worth."

"Great!" Annie gave Shirley's hands a reassuring shake. "It'll be alright, Shirley. You'll see."

They both turned as Jeff and Pierce came back into the room. Jeff, Annie was pleased to see, looked more than a little smug. "Shirley," he said, clapping his hands together. "On behalf of the Hawthorne estate, I would like to reopen negotiations for the sale of your—"

"I have a better idea," said Pierce.

"Pierce..." said Jeff, warningly. But Pierce ignored him, and walked right up to Shirley.

"Shirley," he said, "I would like to offer you a proposition."

Shirley gave him a ringing slap. Annie gasped, and Jeff sighed and put his hand over his eyes.

"I would like," continued Pierce, apparently unfazed, "to invest in your business. Your sandwiches are delicious and your restaurant is sanitary. Ever since I ate there, I can think of nothing but eating there again. In a non-sexual way," he added, unnecessarily. "I think you should open up a franchise in my new mall."

"Pierce," said Shirley. "I – I don't know what to say..."

"Say yes," said Pierce, "and make me the happiest man in this room. No offense," he added to Jeff, who squinted at him in confusion.

"I - I guess..." Shirley looked at Annie, who nodded encouragement. "Yes," said Shirley. "Yes," she said again, more firmly. "That would be a wonderful opportunity. Thank you, Pierce."

"Great!" said Pierce, clapping his hands together. "I'll have my people speak to your people. No offense," he said again, once more exercising his uncanny ability to sabotage a perfectly innocent phrase. "This calls for a drink! Elizabeth--"

"Annie," corrected Annie.

"Whatever. Do you have any champagne? Something decent."

Was he intentionally this irritating, wondered Annie, or was it involuntary? "I think I have something in the fridge," she said, through her teeth. "Let me go take a look."

Actually, she always kept a bottle of champagne chilling in the fridge, after seeing it in a movie (which one, she couldn't remember; she'd have to ask Abed someday). 

"I'll give you a hand," said Jeff, following her.

In the kitchen, she pointed him towards her glasses cupboard. "Jeff, thank you so much for doing this for Shirley." 

He gave a noncommittal grunt. 

She leaned into the fridge, the refuge of its cool solidity giving her the courage to ask the question that had been circling her mind. "Why are you doing this?"

"What, like you wouldn't have asked me to, the moment you found out that my client was suing your friend?" he said, a teasing note in his voice. "I was just cutting out the middleman."

"Yeah, but... all you really needed to do was recuse yourself from the case, then I would never have known," she said, standing up with a bottle in hand. "What if this had gone badly -- what if Pierce had taken offense and told your boss?"

Jeff shrugged. "Ah, Pierce is always throwing tantrums over one thing or another. I can handle him," he said.

She opened her mouth, but then hesitated. Why was she pushing this? Did she really want some awkward confession from him that would make everything between them uncomfortable again? She shook her head. "Never mind. I'm really, really grateful, and I'm sure Shirley is, too. You'll never want for brownies."

Jeff wrinkled his nose. "Maybe she can name a sandwich after me," he suggested. "Something special. And healthy, it should be super healthy – but in a manly way, not just, like, greens and sprouts."

"Lean beef," suggested Annie, smiling. "On rye."

"Annie. You know me so well."

"I look forward to tasting the Jeffwich," she said, innocently, and heard him choke as she walked away.

He followed her quickly back out, giving her a glass and a heated look. Annie ducked her head to hide her smile as she opened the bottle. Jeff handed out glasses, and she poured the champagne.

Pierce held up his glass. "To new friends," he said, and they all toasted.

"Friends," said Jeff, softly, as he clinked glasses with Annie.

And maybe their gazes caught for just a little too long, because then Pierce said, in a low, suggestive voice, "Or maybe… something more?"

Annie's eyes flew to Pierce, but he was waggling his eyebrows at Shirley in a hopeful manner. Jeff groaned.

"Goddammit, Pierce, will you please _behave_?"

\---

It quickly became apparent that Pierce thought he was some kind of epic raconteur, old-school style. Annie had to admit that his stories were compelling, in a morbid sort of way – right up until the inevitable TMI moment that made you want to jam chopsticks through both ears.

"So, Jeff," he said, on his third Macallan, "is this young lady your... what's the phrase... bit of fluff?"

Annie made the offended squeaking noise that she'd never quite been able to shake, no matter how much Troy and Abed mocked it.

"No one calls it that, Pierce," gritted Jeff, avoiding her eyes. "And we're friends. _Good_ friends, and that's all. Okay?"

Pierce shrugged. "Kids these days with your 'status updates', 'Cinemax and chill', 'I'm pansexual but even I have my limits, old man'... You make things so complicated. Don't they, Shirley?"

Shirley gave him the side-eye. "Why are you asking me? I'm about the same age as Jeff."

Pierce didn't seem to notice the tone of warning in her voice. "Back in those days, you gave a girl your class ring, and then you were dating. It was sweet – uncomplicated." He gazed off into the middle distance, watching some rose-tinted vision of his youth. "I remember I had six identical class rings made up. I got to third base with Miriam James _and_ Claudia Labruce before it all fell apart."

Jeff shook his head. He met Annie's eyes, and suddenly she had to repress the urge to giggle. Jeff gave her a wry smile. "Laugh it up – you don't have to defend this in open court on a regular basis."

Annie grinned. "Do you have a lot of court cases?" she asked Pierce.

He shrugged modestly. "Mostly divorces, these days. Which reminds me, Shirley, are you...?"

"Married," said Shirley, firmly. "With three kids."

"Uh-huh. And how strong would you say this marriage is?"

"Pierce!" snapped Jeff. "How many times do I have to tell you? Stop hitting on married women!"

"Yeah, yeah," said Pierce, dismissively. "It worked with my fifth wife."

"That was called bigamy, and it got her 18 months in prison," Jeff reminded him. "You only got off because we convinced the jury that you had early-onset dementia and that she was trying to black-widow you. Funnily enough,” he added, glancing at Annie, “that last part turned out to be true. She had quite a history."

"Ah, but we had three glorious months of marriage before the feds caught up with her," countered Pierce. "She was a vixen in the bedroom. Did I tell you about the time she—"

"No!" Jeff, Annie and Shirley exclaimed at the same time – which was enough to stop Pierce, at least temporarily.

"So, Pierce," said Annie, "the moist towelette business. Is that as… exciting as it sounds?"

Jeff shot her a look of disbelief, but Pierce didn't seem to notice or mind the artificiality of the question, and launched into a lengthy description of the cutthroat game of selling wet wipes. Ten minutes in, and Annie was regretting that she'd ever asked – but when Shirley gave her a reproving look, she raised her eyebrows in return: would she rather hear about Pierce's love life?

Apparently Jeff, however, had reached his limit. "So, Shirley, three kids and a sandwich business, huh?" he said, loudly and briskly, slapping his hands down onto his thighs. "That must keep you busy. Let's go refresh everyone's drinks and you can tell me all about it."

Shirley – the traitor – nodded quickly and grabbed Annie's glass, fleeing for the kitchen with Jeff hard on her heels. Annie glared after them and hoped Shirley told Jeff all about the pre-eclampsia she'd had with Ben, in graphic detail.

When she turned her head, Pierce was giving her an uncomfortably knowing look. "Leaving us alone, I see," he said. "I can take a hint."

"Um," she said, not sure what he was thinking and _very_ keen to remain in happy ignorance. "I don't think they were hinting at anything."

"It's okay, I understand."

She was pretty sure he didn't. "No, really, I think they're just—"

"You're an attractive young lady, and I'm, well," he chuckled modestly, "a man of the world."

Oh _god_. "Pierce, I'm, um, I'm flattered, but—"

"Obviously Jeff wants me to put in a good word for him."

Annie was left momentarily speechless. "Um… I don't… Did he put you up to this?" she asked, unable to stop herself.

"No, sweetheart, no," said Pierce, so patronizingly that she wished Britta was there to wield the blunt instrument of her attitude. "That's not how real men do these things. It's all in the body language, the tone of voice... You wouldn't understand."

"Riiiight." It could be worse, she reflected. Pierce could be hitting on her on his own behalf. That would definitely be worse. "Look, it's sweet that you want to help Jeff out... I guess... but maybe you should talk to him about it first, even if that's not the manly way? Maybe it could be the _metrosexual_ manly way," she said. "Ultra modern and hip, like – like something out of GQ!" Where were Jeff and Shirley with those drinks?

Pierce gave her a patient look. "You really don't get Jeff at all, do you?" he said, and Annie had to quash the urge to smack him. "Listen, forget everything you think you know about him. Clear your mind, close your eyes, and let me paint you a picture of a man, let's call him... Jmeff Schminger."

Annie narrowed her eyes. "I don't think that's a real name, and this really isn't necessary—"

"Eyes."

Annie sighed, and closed her eyes.

"Now, Jmeff is a man you'd want to date, or at least have wild monkey sex with. He's good-looking, in his own kind of pointy-nosed, big-foreheaded way. He's young… well, youngish. Middle-aged? Young-ish middle-aged. When does middle age start? Never mind, that's not important. He's got money, although he's not what you might call _wealthy_ , not by certain standards. He's athletic, definitely, you can't deny him that, not that there's much point to all those muscles, but the ladies like them, am I right? He's amusing, in his own way – if you think of sarcasm as a form of wit. But he has a good heart, buried deep, deep down inside. I mean _really_ deep, like you'd have to get a pickaxe and one of those hats with a light on to find it. And I'm ninety-nine... well, let's say ninety-eight percent sure he has no communicable sexual diseases!" Pierce stopped, and after a minute, Annie opened her eyes again to find him giving her an expectant look. Was she supposed to swoon at this point?

"So, what you're saying," she said slowly, "is that Jeff – sorry, Jmeff – is a weird-looking, youngish middle-aged, not-all-that-rich, pointlessly athletic, sarcastic but healthy man, whose good heart is hidden under a thousand tons of rock." She nodded thoughtfully. "You make an excellent point. How could I possibly resist that?"

"You know, I may have undersold this…"

"No, no – women like a project, right? I mean, supposedly that's what we're all looking for, right? Someone we can _fix_? Because we couldn't possibly want to have a relationship with someone who's already a fully-functional human being!"

"Okay, okay, you got me," said Pierce, holding up his hands. "Jeff isn't the world's greatest catch. But he's my friend, and you may find this surprising, but I don't have a lot of those. I can be – occasionally – a little difficult to get along with, but despite all his walls, Jeff puts up with me. He brought me here when he thought I was making a mistake, rather than treating me like any other client and cleaning up on legal fees. So sue me if I try to repay the favor."

Annie groaned, but not at Pierce; no, she groaned because she felt a traitorous pang of sympathy for the horrible old man, and she just knew it was going to make her do something that she'd probably regret later. She made one last attempt to resist. "Okay, I understand why you would want to help him. All things considered, I do think he's a good guy. But that doesn't mean I'm obliged to date him. You understand that, right?" Pierce looked so glum, that – despite her inner Britta staging a protest – she sighed and gave in. "Okay, look. If Jeff asks me out – _if_ he does – I promise you I'll go on one date with him. Just one. If I don't want to date him after that, I won't do it," she said, firmly. "And it's on the condition that you don't tell him I said this, or hint in any way that he ought to ask me out. But if he does, I'll give it a shot. Fair deal?"

"Fair enough," said Pierce, businesslike. He held out his hand, and Annie shook it – just as Shirley and Jeff came back from the kitchen, giggling quietly together. Pierce pulled his hand away quickly and gave Annie a wink and a zipped-mouth gesture, which made Jeff's grin disappear abruptly. He glared suspiciously at Pierce, and Annie wondered how she got embroiled in these situations. At least it was unlikely that he was going to ask her out, after she'd already shot him down. It would come to nothing, so one little promise to please an old man wouldn't really matter, she told herself, stifling the tiny inner voice that said she'd given in with altogether suspicious ease.

"Annie, you'll never believe it, but it turns out Jeff and I have met before!" said Shirley. "We used to hang out at the same rec center when we were kids! I beat the pants off him, the first time we played foosball!"

"And then she taught me how to play," said Jeff, smiling reminiscently. "I think that was where I first got a taste for the total annihilation of my opponents."

"Wow, that's heartwarming," said Annie, wryly. "Really."

"What a coincidence," said Pierce, brightly. "Do you have any other exciting stories to tell, say over dinner? Jeff, you like Thai, don't you? Do you like Thai, Annie?"

Annie glared at him. "I'm not actually hungry right now."

"It's so nice to be included by my business partner," said Shirley, pointedly. "It really gives me a warm feeling about the future."

"All you have to do is ask, Shirley," said Pierce, diverted – and Annie wasn't sure whether to be grateful or concerned. "I know the perfect restaurant – small, intimate..."

Shirley eyed him. "You know, I've changed my mind," she said. "Count me out."

"No one's going to dinner right now," sighed Annie. "For one thing, it's late, and I have to work tomorrow. We've had a very successful evening; it would be best to end it on a positive note, don't you think?"

"I agree. We should get going," said Jeff, to Annie's relief. "Come on, Piercinald, let's get you home before someone here snaps and your eighth wife finally inherits your collection of Engelbert Humperdinck LPs."

"Over my cold, dead corpse!"

"Yeah, that's kind of the point."

At the door, Pierce stopped, and held out a hand to Annie. She took it, by force of reflex more than anything, and he held it between both of his for a moment. "You know, my mother always said that you can take me anywhere twice," he confided, and glanced at Jeff.

"The second time is to apologize," finished Jeff, rolling his eyes at what was apparently an old joke – but his smile was warm.

Annie – to her own surprise – found herself softening. "Thank you, Pierce," she said, sincerely. "I'm glad you saw that this was the sensible course to take – I'm sure you'll find that doing the right thing will be much more rewarding, in the end."

"Annie. Annie, Annie, Annie. You know, you remind me of my daughter," said Pierce.

"Aw," said Annie, touched.

"Well, technically she's my stepdaughter. Imogen. Or is it Irene? Something like that. Anyhow, she's got a great rack, and she always has to be right about everything." He smiled blandly, blinking at her from behind his glasses.

"Oh."

Jeff snorted. When Annie turned her glare towards him, he grinned shamelessly. "I think that means he likes you."

"Goodbye, Annie," said Pierce. "It was lovely to meet you. Shirley, I will see you again soon." He gave her a broad wink, and Shirley gave him a disgusted look in return. The door didn't close quickly enough to muffle his next remark to Jeff: "Well, if you're not going to pork either of them, I'm making an end run."

The door clicked shut. Annie leaned against it with a sigh of relief, and shot Shirley a look.

"Holy crap," she said. "Good luck."

Shirley groaned, flopping back against the couch. "Thanks. I've got a feeling I'm going to need it!"


	6. Chapter 6

Things were showing no sign of thawing in February – weather-wise, that was. As far as her friendship with Jeff was concerned, they seemed to have reached a safe plateau. They smiled and said hi in the hallways, she had tagged along on some of the negotiations with Hawthorne Industries until Shirley had confirmed that she was no longer in any immediate danger of wringing Pierce's neck, and she chatted with him at Britta's un-birthday party. It was all fine.

So she was a little surprised to find Jeff Winger knocking on her door on a Thursday night.

"Hi," he said. "Uh, I just wanted to warn you about this weekend."

This weekend. Annie's eyebrows raised. This Sunday was Valentine's Day, the timing of which she had been profoundly grateful, as she had hopes of avoiding all the usual intrusive questions from colleagues about her love life. "Oh?"

"Yeah, I'm going to have a friend over, so I wanted to let you know." He gave a reminiscent half-smile. "Things tend to, you know, get loud sometimes."

Annie felt queasy. Wow, they really had reached a safe plateau, it seemed, if he was able to tell her that he was planning on 'getting loud' with someone that weekend. "Okay," she said, aware that she sounded a little terse. "That's fine. Thanks for the heads-up, I guess."

Jeff did a kind of smiling, frowning thing that said he'd caught her tone. "That's okay, isn't it?" he asked. "You don't have plans, or something? I mean, I know it's Valentine's, so I'd understand if you were..."

"No," she said, giving him a brittle smile. "No plans." Although now she was thinking of offering to babysit Shirley's kids at her place, and feeding them lots of sugar so they'd run around screaming all night. Or maybe she'd cash in Rich's offer to fulfill the date-that-never-was.

"Wow. No offense, but that kinda sounds a little sad," he said. Yes, actually, she _was_ offended! "You could join us, if you want?"

How she didn't slap him, she would never know. "What? How dare you?!"

"What?"

"Just because you and I used to be -- to have a -- a _thing_ , doesn't mean I'm willing to make your sleazy threesome fantasy come true, just because I've got nothing better to do on a day when overwhelming commercial and societal pressures are telling me I ought to be in a relationship!"

" _What_?"

"And I don't appreciate your presumption that it would be a perfectly reasonable question to ask, which I can only assume--"

"Wait, wait, _wait_. Hold it right there. You thought I was suggesting a threesome? What the hell, Annie?"

Annie stared at him, as the first inklings that she'd made a terrible mistake crept up on her. He looked genuinely angry. "...You weren't?"

"No! And I can't believe you'd think I would do that! Nice, Annie – real nice. It's great to know where I stand in your opinion."

He turned on his heel and stalked off down the hallway. Annie thought about it for half a second, and then raced after him. "Wait! Jeff, wait--" She caught up, and grabbed his arm. He stopped, but wouldn't turn to meet her eyes. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I jumped to a conclusion, and I don't – it wasn't fair. I'm sorry. I didn't think you'd offer me something like that, really I didn't, which was why I was so shocked – I mean, Jeff, it's Valentine's, and you said you were having a friend over, and it was going to get loud...!"

"Ian is an old friend, and we're watching soccer!" said Jeff. "He's British so he tends to shout at the TV when he gets excited about a match! Which, let me tell you, is surprisingly often given that nothing ever fucking happens in soccer, I mean seriously, nil-nil is a normal score..."

"Oh!" said Annie. "Oh. Oh my god, Jeff, I'm sorry. I just thought..."

Jeff rolled his eyes, and finally looked at her. "Yeah, yeah, you just thought I was suggesting you join me and some random woman for a weekend of debauchery," he said. "Jeez, mind in the gutter much? It's always the quiet ones."

"I am _so_ sorry," she said again.

Jeff shook his head. Finally, he gave her a tiny smile. "It's kind of an annual thing," he explained. "Watching soccer with Ian on Valentine's Day, I mean – except this time it's the day before, because there's a live match, Liverpool against Crystal Palace, and he's a big Liverpool fan, and he also has some kind of blood vengeance vow against Crystal Palace for reasons I have not fathomed... and you didn't want to know any of that. Anyway, so, it's a whole thing. Being a British tradition, it also involves a lot of beer. Hence, loud. I didn't want you think I was being murdered or something."

"That bad?" she said, smiling tentatively, and refusing to acknowledge the relief that was rushing through her. He nodded.

"Oh, you have no idea," he sighed. "But if you want to find out, you really are welcome to come join us. Beer, pretzels, drunken company..." He tipped his head to one side and jigged slightly. "You'd probably save me from being bored out of my skull," he added, persuasively.

Annie laughed. "I'm surprised you don’t have a date lined up," she said, truthfully. 

Jeff rolled his eyes. "Oh god, no, it's the worst time of year for that. It's loaded with the expectation that it's going to be super romantic, and that it'll lead into some sappy movie plotline where you get married and live happily ever after, so if you sleep with someone and then don't call the next day, you're the worst kind of douchebag. No, thank you very much."

"It's like vampires on Halloween," she said. Jeff raised his eyebrows. "I mean, on _Buffy_ , the vampires all take a break on Halloween because they think it's tacky," she explained.

"So, in this scenario, I'm an emotional vampire?" he said. "Your image of me just keeps on getting better and better."

"I didn't mean it that way, and you know it!" she said, smacking his arm lightly. Jeff grinned at her. "I really am sorry," she said softly. "I don't think of you that way, honestly. Not any more," she added, unable to resist the urge to tease him a little. "I guess I'm just sensitive because, you know..."

"Overwhelming commercial pressure, I know," he said. "I get it. You're forgiven, Edison."

"And this does answer one question I had about you!" she added brightly. "You do have friends, after all."

"A _friendless_ emotional vampire! Jeez, Annie..." he complained.

"But now I know that's not true!"

He shook his head, putting his hand to his heart. "I take it back. You're not invited. You've already torn me to shreds – god alone knows what you'd do to poor Ian, I don't know if he's strong enough to take it."

"Aw, your poor little fragile male egos," she mocked. "What time is this gathering to which I'm not invited?"

His eyes lit up, making him look appealingly boyish. "Kickoff is at six-thirty. Should I warn Ian to gird his loins?"

Annie wrinkled her nose. "Gross, Jeff. Maybe not in those exact terms." Jeff smirked. "Really, I just want to see Mark at work's reaction when I tell him I've got a date on Saturday with _two_ attractive, single guys. Um, is Ian attractive?"

"Uh..." Jeff hesitated for a little too long. "Depends on what floats your boat, I guess."

Annie smiled, and turned towards her door, only to glance back over her shoulder. "And you say I'm cruel," she said. "Poor Ian, damned by faint praise!"

\---

Ian was... well, he was okay-looking in a geeky, pallid sort of way, but he had kind of an abrasive personality, and his looks weren't exactly enhanced by the Where's Waldo-esque headgear that was, apparently, an essential part of watching "the match". Still, once Annie had demonstrated her knowledge of Liverpool's recent history with Crystal Palace, and had – for extra points – successfully described the offside rule, Ian had patted the seat beside him on Jeff's two-seater couch.

"Annie, you sit here, next to me," he said, giving Jeff a smug look. "Jeff, get the woman a beer, for god's sake."

Jeff handed her a beer, his eyes wide. Annie shrugged. "What? I did some research," she said.

"Jeff doesn't actually like or know anything about football," said Ian, mournfully. "He just pretends because it's stylish."

"Does anyone actually like football?" asked Jeff. 

Ian shot him a look that said that was possibly the stupidest question he'd ever heard. "No. No one _likes_ football," he said. "Football possesses you, body and soul. Football is a harsh mistress, and we are all but slaves. We crawl at her feet, thanking her for every blow she deals us with her cleated boots, in the hope that someday she will let us do the naughty stuff." He wiggled his fingers obscenely.

Now Jeff was staring at Ian. "I worry about any woman who dates you," he said. "Annie, if you want to swap seats, I'll understand."

But Ian grabbed her arm in a tight grip. "Shut up, Americans! The match is starting!"

Annie sat patiently through the first half of the game. Players ran up and down the field, occasionally the ball approached the goal and Ian sat forward in his seat and yelled at the players and the referee, and there was a constant low noise that at first Annie thought was a problem with the commentator's microphone until she realized with a kind of muted horror that it was the non-stop chant of the crowd, as if in religious ecstasy, rising and falling with the movements of the ball. No goals were scored by either side, and Jeff made no secret of his boredom. At first, Annie wondered if he and Ian had fallen out, but as time went on and they both snarked at each other without actually seeming to take offense, it dawned on her that this was just how they related. It was, she thought, not unlike her and Britta.

After 45 minutes, the game broke for half-time, and while Jeff was out of the room, Annie turned to Ian. "So, how do you know Jeff?"

"Oh, he's my lawyer," said Ian. "The man is a genius. Got me off a drunk-driving charge with some of the most specious arguments I've ever been privileged to witness."

"Easy pickings," said Jeff, returning from the kitchen with more drinks. He set a bottle in front of Annie. "He got stopped by police for erratic driving, at which point he tried to order chalupas from them. Fortunately, this distracted them enough that they didn't breathalyze him until after he'd spent a couple hours in the drunk tank. There was enough doubt to get a trial by jury." Jeff gave a shark-like smile. "And that's my turf."

"Were you drunk?" she asked Ian.

  "Pissed as a newt," he said blithely.

  She guessed that was a 'yes'. Annie pressed her lips together, and gave Jeff a reproving look.  

He raised his eyebrows. "Hey, everyone has the right to counsel," he said. "I can't help it if I happen to be spectacularly good at persuading a jury. It's not like you haven't taken advantage of my silver tongue."

  She ignored Ian's sudden expression of salacious interest. "But I was innocent," she argued.  

"So only innocent people should be allowed a lawyer?"

"No, of course not, that doesn't make sense. But there has to be something wrong when an actual crime – no offense, Ian – isn't followed by the appropriate punishment. Don't you feel bad about taking on clients that you know are guilty, and then defending them to the best of your ability?"  

"Are you suggesting that I should only take on clients if I'm sure they're innocent?" asked Jeff. "Isn't that like asking me to be judge and jury? Or maybe I should take on guilty clients and defend them badly on purpose, to make sure they lose."

  "No! I'm not saying that – but don't you think it's unfair that people who can afford a good lawyer have an advantage?"  

"Sure," he agreed. "And I'll admit that I profit from that fact. I'm a lawyer, Annie. I'm paid to win cases. If you have a problem with the way the system works, talk to a congressman."  

Annie huffed, and crossed her arms, shooting Ian a rueful look. "I should know better than to argue law with Jeff Winger."

"Mm," agreed Ian. "So Jeff is your lawyer as well as your neighbor?"

  "Oh, no," said Annie. "He was just doing me a favor." She smiled at Jeff. "Actually, I guess I still owe you for that," she said.  

He waved a hand dismissively. "I claimed it as part of my pro bono work," he said.

Ian was watching this byplay with interest. "So are you two...?" He waved a finger between them. 

"We're just friends," said Annie, quickly. Jeff nodded.  

"Right. Just friends," said Ian. "I see." He gave Jeff a long look, and Annie grimaced internally. He was probably assuming that Jeff had done it as a favor because she'd slept with him, or something equally gross.  

"Actually, at the time, we kind of hated each other," she added. But this only seemed to amuse Ian further.

"Ah. Really?"

"Shut up, Ian," grumbled Jeff.

"No, no, I just find it interesting that Jeff 'my morals are seventy bucks an hour plus expenses' Winger was willing to help out a neighbor that he allegedly hated out of... what? The sheer goodness of his blackened heart?"

"She asked for my help because she knew I was a lawyer and she'd heard I was good. I helped because I'm not actually a sociopath."

"Uh-huh. And you couldn't possibly have weaseled a way out of it if you wanted?" Ian shook his head. "Now, normally there'd be an obvious explanation for this behavior, but the problem I'm having, Jeff, is that Annie is here today, watching football with us." He leaned confidingly towards Annie. "It's not that Jeff is incapable of being friends with a woman," he said. "It's just that he doesn't usually stick around long enough to learn their last name."

"We live in the same building. He couldn't help sticking around!"

"Aha! So you two HAVE slept together."

Busted. Annie looked at Jeff. He shrugged. "Well, yeah," he admitted, holding her gaze. "It's not a crime."

"And I would be the last person to judge you for it," said Ian. "I'm just surprised you're actually still _friends_ , that's all."

"What? Why is that surprising?" asked Annie, honestly confused. 

Ian shook his head. "You seem like a nice girl, but you obviously don't know Jeff's MO, so let me explain. No, let me get Jeff to explain. Jeff, before today, how many women have you invited into your home to watch sports – excepting any occasion when it was a ploy to get into their pants?" 

Jeff was suddenly very interested in the match. 

"I'll take it that's a 'none'. And how many ex-girlfriends – I use the term in its loosest sense – have you voluntarily introduced to your friends? Again, let's put you down for 'none'. You see, Annie, Jeff has a phone full of women, but whilst I'm sure they're all very _friendly_ , he's not actually _friends_ with any of them. Because that might cause him to question one fundamental fact: if he can be friends with someone he's slept with, why can't he be friends with someone _and_ sleep with them? But that, you see, is called a relationship, and Jeff Winger doesn't do relationships."

"Ian, you should stop talking now," said Jeff, very calmly. Ian ignored him.

"But now there's you. The anomaly. Jeff genuinely seems to like you, and he'd have to be blind not to find you attractive – but if he was trying to get into your pants, I can assure you, he wouldn't have invited me along."

"You're damn right there. Ian, for god's sake, will you—"

"So either Jeff truly has changed so dramatically that he's actually willing to be 'just friends' with a woman that he finds sexually attractive, or—"  

" _IancanIhaveaword_ ," said Jeff, and got up, grabbing Ian's arm and dragging him forcibly into the bedroom. The door slammed shut behind them, cutting off Ian's protests.

Annie's curiosity was at war with her innate good manners. _People who listen at doors never hear anything good about themselves_ , she told herself firmly, and tucked her feet underneath her on the couch.

Five minutes later, they were back. Ian gave her a curious look, but whatever Jeff had said had obviously been effective, because he sat down without a word. Jeff headed for the kitchen, returning with a bowl of chips that he thumped down on the coffee table. In uncomfortable silence, they watched the match. Ian kept his eyes glued to the TV, giving a half-hearted, "Oh, what a save," when there was a roar from the crowd.

"So, are you doing anything for Valentine's Day?" she asked at last, after an exciting nil-nil draw.

Ian sat back and put his arms behind his head. "Trolling the bars for easy pickings," he said, shamelessly. "If I wait until after 9pm, I can get pick up some real bargains."

Annie grimaced. "And you don't think that’s a little tacky?"

"Tell you what, you try being me for thirty-five years, and then let me know when 'a little tacky' becomes a lot appropriate," he retorted.

"Hey," said Jeff, glaring at Ian.

"No, I'm sorry," said Annie, before Ian could reply. "I shouldn't get all judge-y, I guess. After all, I had three different invites for tomorrow, so I guess I'm pretty lucky."

Jeff's eyes snapped to her. Ian looked at Jeff, eyebrows raising.

"They weren't – I mean, I didn't – no one I actually – I wasn't trying to make—" Somehow, she managed to halt that runaway sentence. "Okay, wow, you know what, it's late and I'm tired, and I'm babbling now, so I think I'll… I'll go home."

Jeff stood up when she did. "I'll walk you to the door," he offered.

Ian snorted. "Oh, yes, _clearly_ I was wrong," he muttered.

It was probably safest to ignore him, decided Annie. Jeff walked with her the whole ten feet to the door, and leaned on the frame when she paused just outside and smiled ruefully back at him.

"So," he said. "Three invites, huh?"

"One was from Britta, for an anti-Valentine's Day thing," she said quickly.

"Ah," nodded Jeff. He gave that little smile, the one whose impact vastly outweighed the effort he put into it. "Still… go you."

Her mind flashed back to her last semi-serious boyfriend, Vaughn, and how unpleasant Jeff had been at the time (although, in retrospect, feuding with him had been fun, in a strange way). What had changed? The most obvious explanation was that they'd become friends, and Jeff simply wanted her to be happy – but if that was the case, why had he reacted so violently when Ian started speculating about their relationship?

And why was she thinking so much about this?

The urge to tell him that she'd turned them all down – not that she'd been remotely interested in Mike from work or the Josh Groban lookalike from her usual coffee shop – was almost impossible to contain. "Good night, Jeff," she managed. "Thanks for inviting me to your little orgy. I had fun."

His eyes flicked down to her lips, and she would have sworn she could see his pupils dilate. Still, he wished her good night in a casual tone, and she heard the soft click of his door closing before she'd even reached the elevator, and she told herself firmly to dismiss any such thoughts.

But maybe some time spent listening to Britta's "Valentine's Day is the opiate of the masses" spiel was a good idea, after all.

\---

She spent Sunday with Britta and Britta's friend Page, at the mall. Annie had the distinct feeling that Britta was trying to prove something, either to Page or to the world, by being friends with Page. She wasn't in the mood to find out what or why, though, so all day she carefully kept the conversation light – and as a result, by 5pm she was exhausted. She declined the suggestion that they all go to dinner ("Because who cares if the whole place is full of couples doing their programmed best to prove that they're the most in love, like romance robots!"), and headed home with a great sense of relief ("Well, Page and I can go to dinner, there's nothing wrong with that, just because we'll look like a couple, I don't have a problem with that!"). By 6pm she was in her pajamas and her fluffiest socks, with a bowl of soup and a sandwich, and West Wing on her TV, and had honestly forgotten what day it was. She would have continued in blissful ignorance, if – sometime later – she hadn't heard the distinctive sound of Jeff's door closing. She glanced up, caught sight of the dent she'd left in her ceiling that time she knocked on it with a broom to signal him to come down... and it all came flooding back.

Her breath left her in a rush, and she stared at the slight dent (she really should fix that), lost in her memories of last year, the hours they'd spent in his bed or hers. It was only when she heard his door again that she was jolted back out of them. She blinked, and refocused on the TV, trying to drag her brain back to the show – but it wouldn't come. "I'm losing the plot," she muttered to herself. She hit 'pause' and took her bowl and plate back to the kitchen.

On her way back, there was a knock on her door. Annie froze, and looked down at herself. "Oh, no... he wouldn't..."

But of course he would. "Hi," said Jeff, sheepishly. His eyes went down to her pajamas. "Sorry to bother you." Before she could answer, he thrust an Amazon package towards her. "This came for you today isn't it amazing that they deliver on Sundays now? I swear I've complained a million times about them leaving packages outside the mailboxes if they're too big it's not secure I didn't want it to get stolen so I grabbed it for you I hope that's okay I didn't open it," he said, all in one breath.

She took the package, glancing at it. "Thank you." She'd ordered herself a couple of books and a cute bag, to cheer herself up. "That's very kind of you."

He shrugged, his eyes going to her pajamas again. They had little teacups on them. "Sorry to interrupt your Valentine's Day celebrations," he said, smirking a little now.

Annie rolled her eyes, relieved to feel annoyance in place of the crazy jitterbug her heart had decided to perform, ever since he knocked on her door. "No. I'm just watching TV."

"Anything good?"

She shrugged. "West Wing rewatch."

"West Wing, huh? I've never seen that," he said casually, as if it wasn't a mortal sin.

Annie gaped at him. "You've never... How is that even possible?"

"I dunno. Never got around to it, I guess. I hear it's good."

"Good—!" Okay, this was more important than mere personal embarrassment – she needed to fix this, right now. She grabbed his sleeve and tugged him into her apartment, slamming the door behind him. "That is just _wrong_ ," she scolded, and shoved him towards her couch. "Sit." She crouched down by her TV, grabbing the box for season one. "You’re lucky you told me and not Abed," she said, swapping the discs. "He might never have forgiven you." Then she dropped down beside him on the couch as the warning started to play. "Get ready to have your mind blown."

When she looked at him, he was eyeing her oddly. And perhaps, she realized, with good reason.

"Um, that is, if you're not busy—"

"I'm not busy," he said quickly. "I'm just... are you sure you want me here – you know, today?"

It was her turn to eye him oddly. "We’re just watching a TV show together," she said. "That's all. And I think it's obvious that I don’t have big plans tonight."

"Oh, I wasn't... yeah. Okay. Sounds good."

Four hours later, they weren't making out frantically in the living room, or tangled naked in her bed. Instead, they were seated at either end of her couch, with a bowl of air-popped popcorn between them, and a half-full bottle of wine on the coffee table. Jeff's shoes were off, and Annie's feet were in his lap, his hands wrapped around her ankles. Neither of them could have pinpointed exactly when the atmosphere had changed from 'charged and awkward' to 'comfortable and easy'.

It was nice.

Annie laughed, and Jeff glanced over at her, a smile on his lips. Then his gaze flicked upwards to the clock on her wall, and his expression changed. "Oh, crap, it's nearly one AM!"

Annie glanced at him, and then at her watch. "Oh my god." They were only five minutes into the episode, so she hit 'stop', and swung her legs down from his lap so that he could get up. "I didn't even notice!"

"Ugh, I'm going to be a zombie at work tomorrow," he griped, but without any heat. He grabbed the sweater he'd discarded, and slipped his feet back into his shoes. "It's all right for you, a mere child—"

"I'm twenty-seven," she reminded him tartly.

"A child," he reiterated. "We grown-ups need our beauty sleep."

"Oh, you're beautiful enough," she teased – and he smirked at her before she could even think about regretting the words.

"And that takes work," he pointed out. "But I'm glad the effort doesn't go unnoticed."

"Ugh, you're so vain."

"I prefer to think of it as taking pride in my achievements."

She rolled her eyes, and shooed him towards the door. "Go. Sleep. Rejuvenate," she ordered. "We can watch the rest another time."

"So bossy," he grumbled.

"Well, there's an episode I really want you to see, just coming up, and I'm not going to say any more but it's _awesome_ and you'll love it," she said as she followed him. She frowned. "You loved it so far, right?"

He paused, one hand on the door, and turned back to her, giving her a look that she'd never seen from him before – that she didn't think she'd seen from anyone before. It was indescribably warm, and it made her palms sweaty and her heart trip…

"Yeah, I did," he confirmed, in a low voice. "You were right."

Annie managed a grin. "And someday you'll accept that I'm always right," she joked – it came out a little breathless, but his smile softened into something a little easier to handle.

"I had fun tonight," he said. "Thanks."

She shrugged. "Plenty more where that came from," she said. "The show, I mean. There's, like, seven seasons."

"Yeah. I hope you weren't too bored." She must have looked blank, because he clarified: "You said you were doing a rewatch?"

"Oh! No. No, I hadn't gotten far, it's fine." Well, she'd been halfway through season five – but it was _fine_ , she loved the show. "Besides, I've seen it all already. It's more fun to watch it with someone for their first time."

"Well, I'm glad, then." He loomed a little, and for a second she thought he was going to lean towards her – but then he straightened up and cleared his throat. "Night, Annie."

"Good night, Jeff. Happy Valentine's Day."

"Yeah, you too."

When he was gone, she quickly tidied the living room, put the wine back in the fridge, and got ready for bed, her mind strangely blank. As she brushed her teeth, she stared at herself in the mirror. For a moment, she imagined him standing behind her, a toothbrush in his hand and that look on his face…

She shivered, shook her head, and rinsed.

She'd had a good evening, she thought, as she pulled back the covers and got in bed. Surprisingly low-key – not that her Valentine's Day being low-key was a surprise, but that she could spend most of an evening with Jeff, just watching TV, not even chatting that much, just hanging out together, and that she'd had fun and it hadn't been weird or awkward – or not for long, anyhow. And they hadn’t accidentally done anything… bad. Not that it would have been _bad_ , but it was just… bad.

She turned off the light, and lay staring up at the ceiling. Somewhere above her, Jeff must be doing something similar – settling down for the night in his look-at-me-I'm-so-masculine apartment. She wondered what he was thinking, and if he was thinking about her… if he was sleeping naked…

Okay, she _really_ needed to go to sleep, because now her brain was having all these crazy, random thoughts. She turned onto her side and snuggled deeper into the covers, ignored the feeling that she was missing something, and firmly closed her eyes.


	7. Chapter 7

Somehow, without any planning, the Sunday evening _West Wing_ marathons became a weekly thing. Jeff brought wine, Annie provided (healthy) snacks, and by mid-March they were on to season 2. After the first time, they tried not to watch into the wee hours – except of course when they had one last episode in the season, so they had to watch that – and then it was a cliff-hanger, and Jeff couldn't possibly focus at work for a whole week not knowing who'd been hit, so he had to come over on Monday night to watch the first episode of season two… But basically it was their regular Sunday night date.

Not that it was a date. Well, it was, but only inasmuch as it was a day and time on which they got together and did a thing. By what definition was that really a _date_? 

Luckily, Britta had been (oddly) preoccupied lately, so it hadn't caught her attention yet that Annie was busy every Sunday evening. Not that it would have mattered if she did, because Jeff was a friend, nothing more. A tall, gorgeous, nice-smelling, witty, surprisingly-comfortable-to-be-with friend. With whom she'd slept – but not recently. No, the last time was months and _months_ ago, and now he was over every week, and really it was no wonder that her sex drive was pretty high lately. Besides which, she'd been too busy to date over the winter, but now spring was in the air, and she felt like she was coming out of hibernation, the snowdrops of her feelings were emerging, the ice was beginning to thaw...

Put simply, she wanted to get laid.

She kept having these dreams… wonderful, sensual dreams, but she always woke up before she got to the really good stuff, leaving her frustrated and cranky. Jeff played the starring role more often than not, but then he was her most recent lover, and she still saw him a lot, so it made perfect sense. She had a feeling he wouldn't mind featuring so heavily in her fantasy life – not that she was going to tell him, he had a big enough ego already.

Despite a few indications that he still found her attractive (the way he sometimes stared at her lips with a faraway, dreamy expression; the way he'd flushed like a schoolboy when she'd turned around from changing DVDs one time and caught him checking out her ass; the fact that he'd described her teacup pajamas as 'inexplicably hot', just the other day), Jeff didn't seem inclined to make a move – which was lucky, really, because she was in severe danger of doing something stupid, like falling into bed with him again. But no, he'd accepted his place in her life as her friend, and that was… great. Really great. Perfect, even. She just needed to get past this recurrent attraction to him, and find someone she actually wanted to date. Someone who checked all the boxes on her list.

Yes, the list. Maybe it was time to review the list – new year, fresh start, and all that. So during her lunch break one day, she sat down with a fork in one hand, her favorite pen in the other, and her personal journal, and went through it.

_Item 1: A big heart._

Essential, and always would be. She needed someone who cared, who would go out of his way for a friend, or a friend of a friend – like Jeff had, when Shirley had needed help – or when he'd helped her, back when he hadn't even liked her…

She shook her head. Okay, forget that one for now.

_Item 2: Intelligent._

Oh, completely essential. She needed someone who would challenge her intellectually, who wouldn't just say 'yes' and 'no'. She wanted someone who was willing to listen and to debate, someone who could, for example, argue her to a standstill about the right to counsel… hmm. Moving on…

_Item 3: Brave._

'Brave' as in 'faced his fears', obviously, and not 'stupidly reckless'. Someone who, when push came to shove, would step up and defend her honor, and offer to kick the ass of any sleazy lawyer types who came around threatening—

_Item 4: Genuinely interested in what she said/did, and not just because he was supposed to be._

Someone who would take an interest in the things she loved, even if he wasn't dating her. Someone who wanted to share experiences with her – who wanted to hear her thoughts and opinions, who would ask about her day, or her friends, or her favorite TV show— oh, for god's sake.

_Item 5: In touch with his emotions._

Within reason, of course; she wasn't expecting Brendan Fraser from that scene in _Bedazzled_. She just wanted someone who could identify and articulate his feelings when it really mattered, that she could talk to about real things, like she had with Jeff at Christmas—

Okay, this was getting ridiculous!

_Item 6: Not afraid of or averse to being romantic._

So she wanted to be wooed – to be taken out to dinner in fine restaurants, given flowers, to have someone make an effort – so what? It wasn't just about expensive gifts; she also wanted to have her feet rubbed when she was feeling down, someone to make her breakfast, to kiss her nose or hold her hand, to compliment her on something stupid that she hadn't even realized made her attractive, like her teacup pajamas—

At this point she gave up and threw her pen across the table. She slammed her notebook shut, and stabbed viciously at the remains of her salad. Lusting after Jeff was all very well, but trying to paint him into her ideal man? That was crazy! He was vain! Okay, maybe he had reason to be, the man was seriously gorgeous… But he was selfish! Not that he trampled over everyone in his way, though – he was just very focused when it came to his career… But he was rude! Well, not in mean-spirited or deliberately hurtful way, it was just that he had a wickedly sharp wit…

And weren't those just different ways of saying that he was good-looking, driven, and had a sense of humor – items 7, 8 and 9 on her list? She speared a piece of lettuce and thought about the last item on her list.

_Item 10: Passionate about everything he did_

She stared into space for a long moment, fork hovering partway to her mouth, thinking about Jeff and passion… and then she shivered.

Okay, this was getting beyond a joke. Anyone would think she was falling in love with him!

At her desk that afternoon, she tried to remind herself of all the reasons why she couldn't possibly be in love with Jeff – but it was surprisingly difficult. She was sure, last year, that she'd had several perfectly good and valid reasons not to date him, but the closer she examined them, the more they just seemed to evaporate. This was getting dangerous. Falling into bed with him suddenly began to seem like a minor worry in comparison.

Maybe that was it: maybe it was simply unfinished business. After all, it had all ended very abruptly. Maybe the solution was to sleep with him again, to help her get past all these feelings. She pictured the scene: _The West Wing_ playing out on the TV, ignored, as his hands scorched across her skin and his body pressed her down into the couch, fire and hunger in his eyes as he whispered words of desire against her lips… _Annie, I need you… I want you… I love—_

Okay, no! Clearly she needed reinforcements. She needed someone who would give her the unvarnished truth – someone whose advice had proven sensible in the past, and who could be relied upon to be impartial. Grabbing her phone, she hit speed dial for a familiar number.

"Hi, it's me. Are you free tonight? Oh good – can I come over? I have kind of a situation... Eight would be perfect, thank you! Yes, I'll bring snacks. Popcorn, sure, if you want. Yes, I know you hate sweet-and-salty flavor because it just needs to make up its mind. Okay, see you later, Abed."

She hung up, reassured that her problem would soon be in safe hands.

\---

Annie paced the living room of Casa Trobed. Abed was seated in the large, round swivel chair he used for editing and looking like a supervillain. Troy was stretched out on the couch, looking bored. She hadn't really intended to confide in him as well, but that was okay, they were her oldest friends and worked better as a team. At least he'd muted the TV; trying to explain her complicated feelings for Jeff over the sound of Monday-night football had been difficult.

"I don't see the problem," he said, for the third time. "Why don't you just date him?"

Annie threw up her hands, exasperated at Troy's inability to understand why this was a crisis. "Troy! Because he's not – we're not – it isn't... Abed, help me out here."

"She's now at the stage where the man who previously seemed non-viable as a romantic option has proven his worth, but she's not yet prepared to accept the evidence and change her mind," explained Abed.

"No, that's not it at all! And stop doing that!" She waved at Abed's steepled fingers. "I keep thinking I'm going to be fed to the sharks." She took another turn around the room. "Jeff hasn't proven anything."

"Hasn't he?" Abed tilted his head. "He's made an effort to be friendly with us, as well as with you. He helped Shirley. He stopped fighting you for his parking spot. He's no longer having obnoxiously loud sex when you're trying to sleep."

"Yes, but – but that was just when we didn't know each other!" objected Annie. "I know him better now – he's really a good guy, deep down, it's just that at first he comes across as a raging douchebag. He's not trying to _prove_ anything to me."

Abed considered that for a long moment. " _Pride and Prejudice_ ," he concluded.

"Dibs I'm Lydia," said Troy, promptly. He'd fallen in love with her on _The Lizzie Bennett Diaries._

"Stop trying to fit my life to a plot," said Annie, exasperated (and a tiny bit flattered – Elizabeth Bennett was one of her all-time favorite heroines, after all). "This is real life, Abed! Real people aren't that straightforward."

Abed looked at Troy. "Not Lydia. You're clearly a gestalt entity made up of Jane and Mr. Bingley."

"Aw."

He turned to Annie. “And I know that real people aren’t that straightforward. I'm using it as a framing device, to put it in a way you'll understand. It has more impact than merely saying 'first impressions can be wrong'.” 

" _I_ know _that_ , Abed – I'm friends with him, aren't I?"

"So why are you panicking?"

"Because—" Annie paced faster. Why _was_ she panicking? She'd accepted months ago that Jeff was actually kind and generous and caring, and when she'd gone through her list, she'd easily come up with examples as to how he met each criterion. So why did the idea scare her so much, that he might actually be – like Abed said – a viable romantic option?

"Be…cause," she said slowly. "I'm not sure _I'm_ ready for that. I wasn't looking… I mean, of course I was dating, but I didn't think…"

"That the person you were looking for would be right under your nose the whole time?" said Abed, sympathetically.

"No! Yes! I don't know! I didn't think he'd be like _this_ ," she added, wringing her hands. "He makes me feel so – so out of control! He's cynical and sarcastic and deliberately annoying, and he never does what I expect him to do... I thought I'd find someone more – more stable, and reliable, and – and placid!"

Troy rolled his eyes. "Oh my god, that sounds so dull. I'm glad you didn't find anyone like that."

"Annie, I care about you, so please understand I'm saying this with affection because that might not come across in my tone: you should never be left in charge of your own love life." Abed snapped his fingers. "Stop thinking about the bigger picture. Don't think, just answer: what do you want from Jeff?"

"Kissing," she said, not giving herself time to stop and think. "Kissing would be nice. And… well… sex, obviously, I mean he's… you don't want to know about all that."

"Correct."

"I might."

She ignored the interruptions. "And I want to go out to dinner with him and hold his hand across the table. Take long walks in the park. Spend Sunday mornings snuggling in bed after he's made me French toast and fresh orange juice."

Troy sighed and looked down at his handful of popcorn. "That sounds nice."

"Evenings at home where I'm doing my own thing and he's doing his own thing but we're together and it's just – just comfortable, you know?" she added dreamily.

"You know I hate to be label guy, but that sounds an awful lot like dating," Abed pointed out.

Annie thought about it. "Huh," she said. "I guess... I guess it does."

She knew she wanted him physically, of course – she'd known that for a long time. But she'd never articulated to herself how much she wanted the other stuff – the hand-holding, the snuggling, the just being together – until now. It hit her, all of a sudden, how very much she wanted that, wanted him in her life, wanted to take it for granted that they wouldn't just spend comfortable Sunday evenings together, but active Saturdays, romantic Friday night dates, weekday evenings when they were both exhausted and just fell into bed to sleep... everything. She wanted to be with him, in every sense, so much that her teeth ached with it.

Troy laughed. It was a joyous sound. "Holy shit, Annie's in love!"

She stuck her tongue out at him, feeling suddenly giddy and nervous – and god, so embarrassed! She groaned, although she was smiling. "I'll admit the possibility," she said. "But that doesn't make it any less of a terrible idea. Having feelings for him fixes nothing. If anything, it makes it worse! He already asked me out, remember, and I said that we should just be friends. What if he's moved on? What if he's not interested in me that way?"

The scoffing was quite impressive. She suspected they'd been practicing.

"Uh, take it from us," said Troy, sounding far more worldly-wise than he was really entitled to, in her opinion. "The dude is crazy about you."

"Would he have put up with all of us at Thanksgiving if he wasn't?" asked Abed.

It was, she had to admit, a compelling argument. "That's... wait, Thanksgiving? Was _that_ why you were so awful to him?"

Abed shrugged. "Partly," he admitted.

She shook her head. "No more hijinks," she said firmly. "If this is going to go anywhere – and that's a big 'if' – then you can’t interfere."

Abed sighed dramatically.

" _Promise_?" she demanded.

"Fine. I promise. But you have to promise not to drag it out forever," replied Abed. "I can't stand these will-they-won't-they dramas that go on for years and never reach a conclusion."

"That seems fair. I promise not to do that," said Annie, nodding. "But seriously, what do I _do_?"

"Talk to him," Troy and Abed said in unison. They looked at each other, and Troy nodded for Abed to continue.

"Get him in a receptive mood," he advised. "And then open up. Be shy but forceful – and do that eyelash-fluttering routine, he's the sort who'd be susceptible to that. Tell him how you feel and what you want."

"And don't worry about how he's going to respond," added Troy.

"Find out what he wants—"

"Which is to date you," said Troy, confidently.

Abed nodded. "And then..."

"And then – _what_?" demanded Annie, even though she knew that Abed couldn't really predict the future.

Abed shrugged. "Well, then you live happily ever after."

Annie collapsed into the nearest chair, and blew out a breath, staring blankly into space. Why couldn't her life just be simple, for once? Why did she have to – to develop feelings for the neighbor she'd slept with and then declined to date, of all people!? 

She tried to picture living happily ever after with Jeff, but her mind remained stubbornly blank. What did he want in a relationship? Did he want marriage, kids, a dog and a house in the suburbs? No, more likely it would be a large apartment in the city, and if he got married it would be to a tall, glamorous blonde – no, a redhead, with a job in an art gallery or as a District Attorney, and they'd have long, lawyerly arguments every night. And they'd have one kid, a designer baby that only drank organic soy milk and never got dirty, and whose first word would be 'objection'.

_He asked you out,_ pointed out the optimistic side of her brain.

_Yes,_ the pessimistic side argued, _but he probably just wanted regular access to sex._

Okay, no, that was unfair. But she couldn't imagine he'd ever pictured his ideal woman as looking anything like Annie.

_And you never pictured your ideal man as looking anything like Jeff. Maybe you'll both be surprised._

And maybe she was getting ahead of herself.

Troy, it seemed, didn't share her worries. "Moving in together would be easy, you already live in the same building," he said. "Oh! Or you could put in a fireman's pole between your apartments! That way you both have your own space but you're sharing it at the same time, and _you get to use a fireman's pole whenever you want_. If you put between your bedrooms, whenever you want to have sexytimes, bam!"

Annie's laugh was a bit dazed. "You make it all sound so simple," she said. "Well, except for the fireman's-pole part – which, no."

Abed gave her a gentle smile. "Because to us it is," he said. "We like you, we like Jeff, we'd like you both to be happy."

Aww, that was sweet!

"Or at least to fulfill audience expectations," he added, because of course he did.

"I'll talk to him," she promised, on a rush of breath.

Abed nodded, and leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers again. "And so the pieces fall into place…"

"Abed!"

"Right. Yes. Sorry. No more supervillain stuff."

\---

That was Monday. That Sunday, she started her period, so she postponed talking to Jeff about anything heavy until the following weekend, on the quite reasonable grounds that, whatever happened, she would probably end up crying, and then he'd probably get spooked, and the whole thing would be a disaster, and that wasn't what she wanted _at all_. As it was, she started sniffling at a commercial for toilet paper (but there were kittens!).

She wasn't sure if Jeff was being tactfully quiet or was just oblivious to her mood, but he did ask for decaf instead of wine, making her own mug of hot tea feel a lot less conspicuous. And maybe it was her imagination, but his teasing seemed gentler than usual. His convincing impression of the perfect boyfriend made it even harder to resist the urge to snuggle up to him on the couch. He was wearing a soft grey sweater that clung tightly to him, highlighting the muscles of his arms and the firm plane of his chest, and he just looked so warm and solid and reliable... and there went her stupid tear ducts again.

Procrastination was not in her nature, so this delay in dealing with the situation grated on her nerves. But on the other hand, her apartment was soon sparkling clean and by the end of the week she was way ahead at work. (Her co-workers seemed oddly weary, though – maybe there was a bug going around?) Shirley had invited her over for pancakes on Saturday morning, and she drove there with a farmer's-market bottle of real maple syrup and a fizzing sense of impatience. She wasn't sure that she wanted to discuss The Jeff Situation with Shirley – she could be a little judgy when it came to relationships that weren't about to lead to marriage (at least not straight away and oh god she couldn't even think about that) – but she also wasn't sure how well she could contain herself, even assuming that Shirley didn't pick up on it.

Shirley's house was, as always, cheerful, noisy, and full of life. The boys were holding some kind of race or battle around the dining room and up and down the stairs. Shirley caught Eli as he passed, and swung him around her in a parabola, redirecting him out of the door. Jordan followed, shouting a hello to Annie as he zoomed out into the yard and launched himself at his brother.

Annie peeled herself off the wall, and gave Shirley a grin. "Pancakes, huh?"

Shirley sighed. "The Lord give me patience," she said fondly. She led the way into the kitchen, where Ben sat in a high chair, gummily chewing on the remains of a pancake. He dropped it with a squeal when he saw Annie, and threw open his arms in greeting.

"Baby Bee!" said Annie, reaching for him. She avoided his sticky little hands, and tickled his sides, making him giggle and kick his feet. "Are you having pancakes too? Are you? What a grown-up boy you are!"

Shirley poured more batter into the pan. "He's cutting his first tooth," she said proudly. "Of course, it makes him crankier than Andre with a hangover, but he'll be biting into real food before I know it." She scattered blueberries over the sizzling batter, and smiled over her shoulder at Annie and her youngest son. "His big brothers are so proud of him. It's funny, Jordan and Eli came pretty fast, one after the other, so I didn't get much time to stop and appreciate them. Of course I love them, but I felt like I was always running around after them, and then Andre and I went through that rough patch, and… well, anyway, somehow I feel I have more time to spend with this little one, even though I've got a husband and two other noisy boys in the house."

"Practice?" suggested Annie, carefully nudging Ben's soggy pancake back from the edge. "You know what to expect, so you can enjoy it a bit more?"

"Maybe. Or maybe it's because his brothers are old enough to help with the chores," said Shirley, smirking. "They clean up almost as much as they mess up, now. And they've been helping me redesign the shop. I'm thinking of asking them if they want to do some work there on weekends, when it reopens. Just little stuff, helping in the kitchen and that, nothing too hard. Jordan might even be big enough to handle the till, so long as I'm around to supervise."

"I'm impressed," chuckled Annie. She poked Ben's plump little tummy. "Look out, Ben, she'll have you washing your own diapers soon!"

While they ate, Shirley showed Annie the design for the new shop logo, proudly pointing out where Jordan and Eli had contributed ideas, and Annie was appropriately awed at their talent. Finally, Shirley pushed aside the papers and her plate, and leaned both hands on the table, lacing her fingers together. She gave Annie a stern look.

"Okay, girl – you've had something on your mind since you got here," she said. "Spill."

Put on the spot suddenly, Annie's eyes widened, and she set down her coffee cup. "Oh! Uh…" She resisted the temptation to make up some excuse about work. "It's… well… What do you think about Jeff?" she asked, tracing the pattern on the wipe-clean tablecloth with the tip of her nail.

Shirley gave her a searching look. "Are you sleeping with him again?" she asked.

"No! No." She held Shirley's gaze. "I'm not sleeping with Jeff."

Shirley narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "But you're thinking about it."

" _No_ , Shirley, that's not – do you really think I'd ask for your opinion on that?" She caught sight of Shirley's thunderous expression. "I mean, I know you wouldn't approve," she said, hastily, "so I don't need to ask – look, never mind, just forget I said anything."

"Oh, I don't think so," said Shirley. "Just what is going on between you two that's got you so fidgety?"

Annie tried to work out how to explain it.

"Girl, tell me you're not pregnant, or so help me—"

"No! Oh my god, no, nothing like that," said Annie. The relief of _it could be so much more complicated_ made it easier to continue. "There's nothing's going on between us... right now."

"Annie…"

"I'mthinkingofaskinghimoutandIdon'tknowifit'sagoodideabutTroyandAbedthoughtitwasandIthinkImighthavefeelingsforhim," she said.

Shirley took a long moment – possibly because she needed to decipher Annie's rushed sentence. "Feelings…?"

"For Jeff," nodded Annie, a little breathlessly. Saying it to Shirley made it all feel more real, somehow – maybe because Shirley lived in the real world more than Troy and Abed?

Shirley huffed a quiet sigh, and looked down at the table – and Annie found herself feeling unexpectedly panicky.

"I thought you liked him," she said, trying not to sound too betrayed.

"I do! I do," said Shirley, looking up and meeting Annie's eyes. "He did me a kindness and I will never forget it. I just think... Look, sweetie, I'm not trying to discourage you or anything, but you know he's going to be a lot of work, right?"

"I don't see why you'd say that," began Annie, bristling slightly on Jeff's behalf.

"Oh, I'm sure he knows the difference between right and wrong," said Shirley, waving one hand dismissively. "He's not stupid, and he's not completely lazy, no matter what impression he might try to give. But do you really think he helped me out of pure charity, or that he'd do the same for anyone Pierce tried to sue for no damn reason?" She shook her head. "That boy has a soft spot for you," she said frankly. "He did it because he could feel your eyes on him, Annie, not God's. And that's a heavy responsibility for anyone to take on." She reached across the table, and took Annie's hand. "As a devout Christian, maybe I should be telling you that it's your God-given duty to steer that boy onto the path of righteousness. But I'm also a modern woman, and your friend, and maybe I've listened to one too many of Britta's lectures because I'm telling you, you need to think about whether or not you want to take that on. Do you really want to be his conscience? Because you know you won't settle for him if you think he's doing wrong, and you know he'll take the wide gate and the easy way if it's available. It's not that I don't believe you could do it," she added, when Annie remained silent. "And if that's what you choose, I'll support your decision, one hundred percent. But you need to ask yourself, is that what you want in a relationship?"

When Shirley finished, Annie turned her coffee cup for a moment, pondering. "Is that really what you think of him?" she asked, quietly.

Shirley nodded. "I believe he's got a good heart," she said, tentatively. "I just think he's... well, that when it comes down to it, he's going to weigh up what is right and what is convenient, and where he stands to gain the most. But you know him better than me. Can you truly say that you believe he'd put himself out for me – or for you – if he didn't already care about you and want to impress you?"

Annie gave it due consideration. Then she said, thoughtfully, "I never told you about the time he rescued me, did I?"

Shirley's eyebrows lifted in surprise.

"It was back when we were fighting," Annie continued. "Before we started... you know. Anything. I went to a bar one night, and some jerk kept hitting on me. I stupidly let him buy me a drink, I guess because I was feeling lonely or something, it wasn't long after I broke up with Vaughn, and... I don't know, maybe I should have known better. But when he wanted something in return, I turned him down. That was when he brought out his badge. The asshole was a cop, and he said he was going to arrest me for soliciting! He said it really loud, too – and then he handcuffed me. I've never been so humiliated in my entire life. I was furious." She shook her head. "I couldn't believe someone would abuse their power in that way. I started to panic, when he bundled me into the squad car. All I could think was..."

She trailed off. Shirley's hand tightened fiercely around hers, and it grounded her enough to continue.

"But he took me to the station," she said, shaking off the feeling. "I think I was in shock – it was like being in a terrible movie or something. I said I wanted to call my lawyer, so of course they had to let me – but I didn't even have a lawyer. Then I remembered that I had Jeff's number, from the time I hacked his phone and changed all his contacts." Her face lightened as she recalled the prank. "I called him. God knows what he must have thought, all we'd done up until then was make each other's lives difficult, but he didn't argue, he barely even said a word, just _stay put, don't say anything, I'll be there in ten minutes_. Ten minutes later, he walked in, and I have never been so glad to see anyone in my entire life. He got the charges dropped straight away, just by – as far as I could tell – yelling at them in lawyerese. It was like magic." She smiled, remembering how hyperbolic he'd been about the abuse of her rights, how satisfying it had felt. "They agreed that asshole would be reprimanded and would write me an official apology – I still have it somewhere – and I agreed not to file harassment charges. And that was that. Jeff didn't say much about it when we got out, except to warn me that the bar had kind of a reputation. Like I was ever going to go there again! I'd been kind of worried about what he might want in return, after everything with that parking spot, but it was like he thought nothing of it, like _of course_ he would do that, just fly in and dispense justice, like – like a superhero."

She breathed out, feeling like she'd gotten something off her chest, and looked up at Shirley, trying to gauge her reaction. Shirley looked horrified.

"Annie, you never told me," she said. "If I'd known—"

She patted Shirley's arm. "You would have gone toe-to-toe with the establishment for me, I'm sure," she said, meaning it. "And we'd probably have both wound up in jail. I love you, Shirley, but I didn't need someone to get angry for me, I needed someone who could work the system, and keep a level head. Somehow I knew Jeff would do that. 

“I don't know, maybe there was already something there – I did take him home afterwards and, well, that was the first night we spent together. But I think that was as much of a surprise to him as it was to me. He didn't do it to get into my pants. He did it because I needed his help." 

Annie met Shirley's eyes. "And I know I can't prove it, but I do believe he'd do that for anyone, whether or not he knew them. He tries to conceal it, tries to squash it down and pretend it's not there, but he's got the heart of a knight, under all that silly posturing and double-talk. He is kind, and brave, and – I don't know, he loves a good fight. But you can see it in his eyes: he needs to believe in what he's fighting for, or else the victory is meaningless. _That's_ the Jeff I see – the one I – I'm developing feelings for. He's already trying to do the right thing, but sometimes he just needs an excuse for it, so he can keep pretending he's just another cynical lawyer." She grinned. "I wouldn't be his conscience; I'd be his beard."

Shirley sat back. "Well," she said, finally. "I would never have guessed." 

Annie shrugged. "I'm not sure I realized it either," she confessed, "until just now."

Shirley gave her a small grin. "Well, in that case, he has my blessing," she said, munificently. Annie rolled her eyes. "And if you did happen to marry him, I'm sure God would overlook your succumbing to temptation," she added, sweetly.

"Shirley!"

"What, so I'm allowed to be concerned about you getting arrested, but not about the fate of your immortal soul, now?"

Annie groaned and dropped her head onto the table – mainly to hide her grin, it had to be said. "Getting ahead of yourself much? You're worse than Troy and Abed!"

"Oh, like you haven't already thought about roping and branding that prime piece of steak."

" _Shirley_!"


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *clears throat* This is it! Thank you all SO MUCH for sticking with this, and all the kudos and the kind comments. Honestly, I suck at replying, so I probably don't convey how much it means to me when people take the time to tell me they liked my work. And thanks especially to Bethany, without whose help and encouragement I would honestly never have finished this. I just... *flails, attempts to convey gratitude through the medium of mime instead*
> 
> So anyway, I hope you all like it. :)

It was possible she was overthinking this. It was definitely possible that she was turning this into a huge production by involving most of her friends before she'd even spoken to Jeff. It was also possible that she was building this all up in her head into something much bigger and more complicated than it really needed to be, and that Jeff would, in fact, be quite calm and accepting of the idea that she'd changed her mind and would quite like to go on a date with him now. After all, it had been his suggestion in the first place, so it shouldn't exactly come completely out of the blue. 

But if so, if he was calm and accepting, would it be because he didn't care whether or not they dated, or because he was comfortable with all the possible outcomes? Did he not realize that dating sometimes led to commitment, marriage, children, a lifetime together, and twin gravestones? Honestly, what kind of – of lackadaisical goof-off just went through life asking women out willy-nilly without considering all the ramifications!?

And what if he wasn't calm and accepting? What if he was completely thrown by the idea? What if he had in fact assumed that they were friends now (and they were – they _were_ ), and now that he'd had time to get to know her, he actually preferred it this way? Just because he found her sexually attractive, and also liked her as a person, didn't mean that he wanted to date her. Maybe she was putting two and two together and making five. Maybe she was seeing more than what was really there. Maybe she'd spent too much time around Abed and all his talk of happy endings. Maybe they really were better off as friends.

Maybe she was overthinking it…

"Annie?"

Annie jumped. Jeff was giving her a curious look. "Yes! Yes? What?"

He gave a tiny smile. "Something on your mind?"

"Wh-why would you say that?"

He paused, eyeing her as if she might go off any second. "Well, you know... you're sitting bolt upright on the couch, you finished your first glass of wine before the opening credits, and I think if I flicked you, you'd go 'twang'. Plus you just started muttering under your breath." His smile deepened, showing off the long dimples in his cheeks. "But other than that, you are a totally relaxed and calm person who never, ever comes across as highly-strung," he said, eyes twinkling.

Ugh, he was so disgustingly charming. It just wasn't right – how could she help falling for him?

She realized that she was in fact actually kind of falling towards him, her head tilting sideways and her torso leaning in. She yanked herself back upright, eyes front and center, and tried to school the dreamy look from her face. "I'm fine!"

"Okay. Sure you are. Good job not being at all weird, by the way." He picked up the bottle of wine, proffering it to her.

She hadn't realized how quickly she'd gone through the previous glass, but now that he'd mentioned it, she was feeling a little dizzy. She nodded anyway – she had a feeling she might need a little liquid courage – and he topped up her glass, and then his own. But instead of reaching for it, she picked up the bottle of water she'd brought out, and sipped it gingerly. Then she set it on her knees and clenched her hands around it.

Okay. She could do this. She pretty much _had_ to do this, in fact, or she might never be able to relax around him again – and that would suck, because Sunday evening was rapidly becoming the highlight of her week. She ran through everything the others had said: _Talk to him… don't worry about his response… do that eyelash-fluttering routine… that boy has a soft spot for you… live happily ever after…_

She risked a glance at him, but instead of watching _The West Wing_ like a normal person, he was watching her. She jumped again and looked quickly away, her resolve scattering like Britta's cats whenever there was a loud noise.

"I'm beginning to think I've upset you somehow," said Jeff, although judging by the smile in his voice, he wasn't all that worried. "Seriously, Annie, are you okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine!" she assured him quickly, turning to face him properly. "I'm not upset, I promise!" She could do this. She could do this. "Although…" Shit, she was doing this! 

Okay, don't panic, keep calm. Jeff was waiting politely for her to continue. She tried to remember any of the opening lines she'd brainstormed, but her mind was a complete blank. No, it was okay, she could just wing it. Really, how hard could it be to ask someone out on a date? She'd done it before – and heck, he'd already asked her! What had he said? Maybe she could mirror his words back to him, if she could just remember what they'd been… hadn't he done something silly, like pretend they were strangers?

"Although…?" said Jeff. Annie blinked at him. "You just said 'although', and then zoned out on me," he explained.

"Mm? Oh, ahaha." Maybe she _was_ overthinking it, and she should just go with her gut instinct. Annie tried to work out what her gut was saying. What did she instinctively want to do? She let her mind wander... 

Instantly, an image flashed into her head, of throwing herself at him and them tearing all their clothes off. Hah, yeah, _no_. Her gut was clearly an idiot, because that was definitely _under_ thinking it, and she'd been there before, and it was all very unsatisfying. Well, emotionally, anyhow – physically, it was pretty damn... ANYWAY, she was getting off track. There had to be some perfect line between over- and underthinking it. If she could only figure out what it was!

And now Jeff was leaning over to grab the remote and pause the DVD, sitting forward on the couch so their knees were almost touching. 

"Okay, I'm getting feeling that there's a whole conversation going on up there, that I'm not privy to." He reached up to tap her forehead. "Which is fine, of course, if you don't want to talk," he added, quickly withdrawing his hand. "I'm not your... whatever, I'm just saying, you look like you've got things on your mind, and if you do want to talk, I'm here. But no pressure. I mean, it's not like I'm invested... I care, of course I care, but..." He rubbed the bridge of his nose. "You know what, I'm just going to stop talking now."

Wow. Apparently it was catching.

She found herself grinning at him, and he huffed. "Hey, you started it," he accused. "With your weirdness."

It was proving very difficult not to reach out and take hold of his hand – so Annie gave up trying to fight that particular instinct. Jeff startled, but didn't pull away. He let her wrap her hand gently around his fingers and tug it into her lap. Her thumb rested against his knuckles, and she stared down at them for a moment, hearing him swallow.

"Annie," he said, hesitantly.

_Use your words,_ she told herself.

She forced her eyes up, and met his gaze. He looked bewildered – but his hand closed around hers, and that gave her courage. She drew in a deep breath. "Jeff," she said, and was surprised at how calm and confident she sounded. "I was wondering if you might like to go out sometime – you and me. On a date," she added, just in case that hadn't been clear. She wanted absolutely no misunderstandings here.

Jeff was silent for about a thousand years, or the space of three rapid heartbeats, his mouth hanging open slightly. "Wow. Huh. That is not what I expected you to say."

Annie wasn't sure what reply her expression gave, but Jeff's free hand went up quickly, in a pacifying gesture.

"Not that it's bad! Just unexpected! I mean, I kind of got the impression that you didn't want to do that. You know, because I asked you out once, and you said no."

"Yeah, about that," said Annie. "It's possible I may have not given the idea due consideration."

"Yeah?" he said huskily.

She nodded.

"And now?"

"Now," she said, "I have. I've given it a lot of thought, actually. Almost too much. Hence the whole…" She gestured to her head.

"And all this thinking… led to you asking me out?" concluded Jeff.

"Mm-hmm."

"Oh."

There was a long, agonizing pause. Annie wondered whether it was possible to die from anticipation.

"I can't help but notice that you haven't answered the question," she said, licking her lips nervously. _Wait – was that too pushy?_ "But, like, no pressure. I like being your friend, but... I had to ask. I mean, I wanted to ask."

Jeff looked surprised. "Oh! Yeah, sure – wait, can you ask it again? I wasn't ready. I'll get it right this time." He shook his shoulders out, like he was warming up to go on stage. "Okay, go," he said.

Annie eyed him, a little irked at this behavior. He gave her a bright-eyed, expectant look, and she got the distinct impression that he was laughing at her. Still, she didn't have any better ideas, and it would be easier the second time. "Jeff, would you like to go on a d—"

He moved in so fast, she had no time to react. His fingertips brushed her face so softly, barely even touching her – and the kiss was… was… She'd never been kissed so gently. Her eyes closed instinctively, and she resisted the urge to deepen it, to pull him close or push him to the couch. Instead, she just let herself experience the moment, her mind clear of everything but the sensations he was creating.

Yeah, it was a pretty great moment. Definitely one of the top five all-time great moments of her life. His hand sank into her hair, thumb stroking the curve of her ear, and yes, okay, number one with a bullet.

She moaned slightly, and he moved back, just a few millimeters. She could feel his breath fanning across her cheek. "Yes," he whispered.

Her eyes opened slowly. "Hm?" she said, having forgotten the question.

His hand trailed down the line of her jaw. "Yes," he said again. "To a date – or anything. Whatever you want. Yes."

"Oh," she said, wonderingly. "Okay, yes. Good. Can we—"

The next kiss was even better. This time she tilted her head so their mouths could slide together, and Jeff made a noise that he'd probably deny was a whimper. When she turned so she was kneeling on the couch beside him, his hands supported her, guiding her until she was straddling his lap and leaning against his chest. That was good, because it meant that her hands were free to make some serious inroads into disheveling his hair.

The weight of his arms around her was reassuring, reminding her that this was _real_ , this was _happening_. With one hand in his hair and one clutching at his shoulder, she tried to get even closer. Jeff helped, hitching her closer with one arm steadying her hips, and she pressed down, feeling the groan vibrating in his chest.

She lifted her head again, panting, and tried to gather her thoughts back together. She needed to put the brakes on before this got completely out of control.

"So we should – we should probably take it slow," she said, aware that she'd never said anything with less conviction. "You know, with everything... we probably shouldn't jump back into bed together right away."

"Uh, yeah. I guess so," he said, sounding more dazed than disappointed. He was breathing hard, and he couldn't seem to decide whether he wanted to stare at her eyes or her lips.

_You're the lawyer_ , she told him silently. _Come up with a good argument!_ She shifted impatiently in his lap, and his eyes closed involuntarily, his brows pulling together in a tiny frown.

"Unless..."

It was a great argument; she was convinced. "Yeah, okay," she agreed, taking bolt-cutters to her mental brake cable. "Starting tomorrow." She pressed her lips to his again, glad that was resolved.

"Tomorrow, uh-huh," said Jeff, following her as she backed out of his lap without stopping the kissing. "Wait, what's happening tomorrow?"

"We're taking it slow, starting tomorrow," she explained the plan again, breathlessly. Hadn't he been listening?

"Oh, right." Standing was awkward when they couldn't stop kissing, but somehow they managed to do it, and to start stumbling towards her bedroom. "Good idea. Because this is new ground for me, so I'm probably gonna… shit, you're gorgeous…" He trailed off so he could press her into the bedroom door and kiss her. "Probably gonna screw up," he resumed valiantly, walking her backwards.

Annie whimpered slightly. He was doing pretty well so far. The backs of her knees hit the mattress, and they fell together onto the bed. "And we have history," she reminded him, as he began to unbutton her sweater. "So that will… unh… will complicate thingsoh _god_." She lost the thread of whatever she'd been saying. Had his hands on her body felt this good before, or was it just because it had been _nearly five months_ since he'd last touched her like this? Feeling more than a little overwhelmed, she held on to his hips, her thumbs rubbing restlessly at the soft cotton of his shirt until she'd worked her way underneath and could stroke his warm skin.

She wasn't aware that her touch was affecting him just as much until she realized that he'd stopped moving, stopped kissing her, and was just hovering there as she stroked him, his breath coming hot and fast against the tops of her breasts. Experimentally, she slid her hands further under his shirt, and he groaned, clutching at her.

"I've missed you," he muttered against her skin. "Sleeping one floor above you has been like torture, you have no idea."

"Oh, I have a pretty good idea." His eyes lifted to hers at last. "My vibrator is a poor substitute."

" _Jesus_ , Annie." Abandoning all attempts to get her clothes off, he covered her body with his and kissed her again with more passion than finesse, pressing her hard into the bed. Annie wrapped her arms and legs around him, holding him tightly as he rocked urgently against her. "I need to be in you now," he panted. "Can we do that?"

"God, yes," she groaned, pretty sure she'd never wanted anything more. " _Please_."

They stripped as though they'd just been irradiated, clumsily helping each other whenever they came within reach, but otherwise focused on getting naked as fast as possible. While he was distracted grabbing a condom from the drawer of her nightstand, she tackled him to the bed. He rolled them into the middle, and they lost several delicious minutes making out. Need quickly overcame them again, and Jeff scrabbled for the foil packet while she bit all the skin she could reach. Then he was shoving her back to the bed, and she was wrapping her legs around him and dragging him close, and then… _oh_.

He kissed her, and she opened eyes she hadn't realized she'd closed. As he moved, she reminded herself that it was Jeff, not a silicone toy or her own fingers – it was Jeff making her feel these things, Jeff inside her, above her, Jeff, jeffjeffjeff... "Jeff!" she gasped, arching towards him. He growled, and slipped a hand underneath her waist, pulling her even closer.

"Annie... fuck, you're so beautiful," he gasped.

"Jeff, I can't—" He'd been inside her for maybe a minute and already she was close. She clutched his shoulders. "Please, I need—"

Somehow understanding her broken babbling, he drove harder, deeper, and she almost sobbed with relief. She wasn't going to last much longer, but, judging by the desperate way he was moving against her, neither was he. The bed was shaking, and a tiny part of her brain observed that it was lucky he was her closest neighbor, because otherwise this would be really annoying for someone.

Then he moved back slightly and met her eyes, slowing for a moment. His brow was damp with perspiration, and his eyes were bright. "Annie," he said, holding her gaze so that all she could think of was him and the slow, purposeful way he was moving – until she couldn't keep her eyes open any longer, she shuddered and grabbed at him, and he kissed her, and that was it, she was gone, laughing and crying and shaking, holding on to him like he was the only thing keeping her from being swept away and lost forever.

He waited until she'd gone limp beneath him, panting and wrung out, and then he groaned hoarsely and pushed into her, once, twice, and then he too was losing all control, muttering nonsense into the crook of her neck as he came.

It was a long moment before either of them could reassemble the requisite brain cells to speak. "Oh my god. That was..." he said.

"Yeah," she agreed, nodding fervently.

He propped himself up on an elbow and examined her face closely. "Yeah?" he asked.

"Well, _yeah_."

Swiftly, he kissed her brow, and her eyelid, and then very gently bit her nose. Annie giggled, and he moved back, grinning. "You're too delicious," he explained. "I might just have to keep you."

In answer, she stroked her fingers along his cheek, guiding him down for a tender kiss.

\---

"What time is it?"

Jeff lifted his head slightly to look over her shoulder at the clock on the nightstand. "Just after ten," he said, lying back down and resuming running his hand lazily up and down her back.

"Mmm, still early," she purred happily. She could afford another few hours before she had to sleep – which was lucky, because she still had plans for him, in this stolen time in which she was allowing herself to be irresponsible. And she'd be getting to those plans just as soon as she worked up the energy to move from this warm, comfortable spot against his chest.

He chuckled. His fingers were finding every bump of her spine, and it wasn't helping her find the motivation to move. She drifted again, content just to be.

His voice roused her again. "So, what's the plan?"

"Plan?" Somehow she got the feeling that he wasn't asking about her designs on his body.

"Yeah. I mean – are we dating now? Or are we not dating until we actually go out on a date? What if the date is a disaster? Are we obliged to give it another shot because we've already skipped to the good parts?"

She pulled back to give him an incredulous glare, but his grin was irrepressible.

"C'mon, Annie, you said you'd given this a lot of thought," he chided.

She smacked him – easy to do with such an array of skin available. "Don't be an ass."

"I'm serious! Well, maybe not about the possibility of the date being a disaster because we are nailing this, no pun intended. But about the rest. If we run into Mark in a coffee shop tomorrow, do I say, 'this is Annie, my neighbor, we're going on a date this week', or do I say, 'this is Annie, my girlfriend'?"

She wriggled; she couldn't help it. "You want to introduce me to people as your girlfriend?"

"Well, yeah," he said. "I mean, I kind of thought that was obvious."

She gave him a wide-eyed look. "No!"

"Oh. Huh." This seemed to throw him. "I thought you knew. To be honest, I thought everyone knew. Not that I'm trying to – to pressure you, or whatever, but just every time I'm around you, it's like I'm fourteen again, trying to get the hottest girl in school to notice me. I was worried you might find it kind of obnoxious – but then we started hanging out more, and I figured you'd decided to be merciful and ignore it."

She shook her head. "Really not," she said, and then thought about it. "Troy and Abed knew, somehow, but they're always reading into things so I tend not to pay too much attention. And – Ian, before you stopped him?" He nodded. "Huh. I mean, I guess maybe I had an idea, but… Maybe I just didn't want to see it, because I wasn't sure how _I_ felt."

"And now?" he asked – and despite everything, she could hear the nervousness.

She snuggled closer. "Now I can definitely state that I feel pretty positive."

"Mm-hm?"

"Yeah. Early indications are showing high satisfaction ratings."

Jeff's smile turned smug. "Yeah? Because, you know, that wasn't even my best work."

"I'm all about self-improvement," she said. "I'm happy to help you practice."

He rolled them both so she was in his arms, and he was mostly on top of her – but then paused. "Taking things slowly," he reminded her – and perhaps himself. "Well, starting tomorrow."

"Mm." She thought about it. "That's really more about doing things in the right order, you know, and not about actually going slowly just for the sake of it. I mean, if we're ready to move on, then we move on."

Jeff – of course – caught on immediately. "What are you doing for breakfast tomorrow?"

Her smile was wide, and a little shaky. Despite everything, she was still a little nervous, too. "No plans. Why?"

"Well, I know this great little place that has fantastic waffles. It's not far from your office, actually. Good place for a first date – low-key, no pressure, but still kind of intimate and cool."

"Sounds great. I didn't know you ate waffles," she teased.

He shrugged. "You're more than welcome to help me work them off," he suggested, voice low.

"Taking it slow," she said again, like a mantra (because _god_ he was tempting).

"Dirty mind much? I meant at the gym. Tomorrow, lunch? I'll buy you a smoothie."

"Hm, a gym date, sounds good. I can show you my judo moves." Jeff's grin broadened, and she made a mental note to knock him on his ass. "But you can't hog all the dating plans, you know." She ran a fingertip along his collarbone, pleased when it made him shiver and his eyes go hazy. "Would it seem really old-fashioned if I said I'd like to cook for you?"

She'd been expecting him to smirk – she was, after all, basically suggesting a date in the vicinity of her bed – but instead he looked kind of touched. "I'd like that," he admitted. "And for the sake of equality, we can take turns. I'll cook for you next time."

She smiled, pleased that he was thinking in terms of 'next time' already. "That sounds fair," she agreed. "Tomorrow evening?"

And there was the smirk. "Third date, huh?" he said. "Do I get to see your fanciest underwear?"

Given that she was currently wearing precisely nothing, and don't think she hadn't noticed his straying hand, the question was perhaps a little academic – but she ignored that. It was good that he understood that it was a question, and not a given. "We'll see," she said, with dignity. "The third date rule isn't an empirical measure, after all. Every situation has to be evaluated on its own merits. Maybe I'm not sure if you're mature enough for me. Maybe you'll need to date me for a long time before I'll go to bed with you."

He nodded. "I'll just have to make the most of it now, in that case," he said, tugging the sheet out of the way.

She gave a very unromantic snort of laughter. "You're stocking up on sex?"

"Well yeah, sure. Potential hard times ahead," he said. "Lots of cold showers. Who knows when I'll be able to do _this_ again?"

" _Oh._ " She opened eyes that had unaccountably fluttered closed. "Well, if it's any consolation, I have a feeling that I'm not going to be able to resist you for very long."

"I don't know; I'm beginning to doubt I hold any power over you. I mean, somehow you managed to get along without me for the last five months."

"Four and a half," she corrected – and then blushed when he grinned knowingly. "Anyway," she continued quickly, "you resisted me, too."

But this was summarily dismissed. "Lies, all lies. I'd change my Facebook relationship status whenever you wanted." He smiled softly. "Since last summer," he confessed.

"Aw!" They needed to stop talking before she lost all sense of caution and decided that cramming three dates into one day wasn't fast-tracked enough. Fortunately, there was an obvious and easy distraction to hand. Before she let everything slide for a few more hours, though, she smiled up at him. "If this is your pitch, I have to say, it's kinda working for me," she told him.

He looked smug. "Yeah? I guess I _am_ pretty irresistible," he said.

"Mm-hm. It'd be almost impossible for you to ruin it now," she said – and then tilted her head thoughtfully. "Well, difficult, anyhow." She smiled wickedly when his self-satisfied expression faltered. She couldn't have him thinking she was too easy, after all.

The light of challenge flared in his eyes. "Is that so? I guess I'll have to see—" he sat up and grabbed her hips, tugging her down the bed toward him, "—what else I can do—" one leg went _there_ , the other leg went _there_ , and he was between them, "—to convince you."

Annie shook her head, trying to remain stern. "Don't think you can persuade me with se-eeeeeee…oh god oh god oh _god_."

Okay, so the outcome was probably inevitable. There was only so bad she could feel about being a foregone conclusion when the results were this spectacular.

\---

"Reader, I married him."

"Abed, oh my _god_ ," said Annie, from her position on Jeff's lap. "We've barely been going out for five minutes!"

"We've been on seven dates," objected Jeff.

"In less than a week," countered Annie. "So, Abed, I'd appreciate it if you didn't try to scare off my boyfriend—"

On cue, Britta, Shirley, Troy and Abed all groaned.

"—just yet. Okay, maybe I'm overusing that word a little," she conceded.

"A little? Honey—" Jeff's words were drowned by a second chorus of groans.

"Banned. Banned. You are both banned from this apartment until you get this under control," said Abed. "Under the Birthday Rules, I hold power of veto." He held up a stern finger as Jeff opened his mouth. "And I swear to Allah, if you allude _in any way_ to what you both might do instead of hanging out with us, I will end you."

Jeff meekly closed his mouth.

"Oh, Abed, don't be like that. We'll be good, I promise," swore Annie. She got up and moved to the seat next to Jeff on the couch (and it totally wasn't cute, the way his hands clung to her, and how he gave a little whine of protest). "See? We can behave normally. Tell us more about the Inspector Spacetime convention!"

This time it was Jeff who groaned. The tickets had been Abed's present – she and Troy had gone in together to buy them, and were both going to the convention as well. Jeff had sat through three episodes in Annie's quest to familiarize herself with the show, before declaring that enough was enough.

"Okay. But you're under probation," said Abed. "One false move—"

"We'll be good," said Annie. "Scout's honor." She glared at Jeff.

"Okay, okay! I won't say a word."

"You can talk if it's about something other than your new relationship," said Abed, fairly. "So long as you don't turn it into innuendo or cutesy in-jokes."

Jeff opened his mouth, paused, and then grimaced. "Okay, I might not be able to do that," he admitted, looking sheepish. "It's like this giant… fluffy… cloud has enveloped my brain, and all I can think about is Annie."

Really, it was inhuman to expect her not to swoon when he said things like that.

Abed rounded on Troy. "Was that an 'aww'?" he demanded. "There will be no 'aww'-ing at this disgusting display!"

"I can't help it – they’re kind of adorable!" protested Troy. "Anyway, why are you being so negative? It's great that Annie's found someone."

Abed shrugged, and the annoyance seemed to drop from him like a cloak. "I'm just providing tension," he explained airily. "If they start living happily ever after, the story could end, and then who knows where we'll be." He waved his hands, as if to illustrate The End Of All Things.

"Abed, you need to stop manufacturing tension for a show that exists only in your mind! I shouldn't have to point this out _again_." Annie exchanged a look with Jeff, and her shoulders dropped resignedly. "Oh, who am I kidding?" she said. "I knew this would happen."

"They're your friends," said Jeff. "You get them all in the divorce."

"Too late," said Abed, pointing at him. "You agreed to come to this party before you and Annie started dating, thereby proving that you're my friend separate to any other developments. There's no escaping us now."

"Dammit." But Jeff was unsuccessful in hiding a tiny, pleased smile.

"Can I object?" asked Britta. This idea was not met with rousing enthusiasm, but fortunately she didn't seem to expect that it would be. "I was the last one to hear, and I didn't even find out until after it was already happening. How come everyone else got to put in their two cents?"

"How come you didn't answer my texts?" retorted Annie.

Britta blushed and mumbled. When she'd finally resurfaced, she'd made some excuse about a 'vision quest', but Annie had her suspicions (hadn't the carnival just come through town?) about that. Whatever the reason, it seemed to mean that Britta was staying low-key with her judgmental remarks about Jeff, so Annie wasn't going to complain... too much.

"I think it's nice," said Shirley, smiling at Jeff and Annie. "After all your sinful behavior, now you can make it right by getting married and having cute little babies."

"Oh my _god_ ," muttered Annie, wondering if this was going to be Shirley's pitch until she either broke up with Jeff or they gave in, got married, and started reproducing. She hadn’t been this intense about any of Annie's previous boyfriends, but then none of them had ever really integrated themselves into her friend group like Jeff had, so maybe that explained it.

(For the record – although she wasn't even remotely contemplating such a thing right now – their babies would be both cute _and_ ridiculously smart.)

"Wow," said Jeff. "Shirley. Is this your attempt to sink this relationship as soon as it leaves the dock by overloading it with expectations? Or maybe you're unaware of the divorce statistics for people who marry in haste – because, believe me, they help to keep me in six-hundred-dollar suits."

Shirley's smile turned to a frown. "Don't test me, boy, or I might decide you're not good enough for our Annie after all," she warned sharply.

Jeff ducked his head, looking suitably chastised – but surreptitiously gave Annie a wink. She briefly tried to work out if it counted as defending her honor when he was actually fighting for their right to be sinful (at least according to Shirley's measure of such things), but quickly gave up, and snuggled into him again. Jeff wrapped his arm around her and pulled her in tightly against his side, resting his chin on her head with a happy little sigh.

When she looked around, feeling supremely content, she realized that Abed was watching them. "Fine," he said, throwing up his hands. "Who am I to fight the narrative? I give up. Annie, do you have any poignant reflections on your feelings about Jeff a year ago?"

She lifted her head from Jeff's shoulder. "What? No. I thought he was a jerk, but… Abed, what are you talking about?"

Abed shook his head. "Hopeless. Have I taught you nothing?" He didn't wait for a response. "Jeff, what about you? You're a lawyer, care to make a closing statement? Winger speech to take us home?"

Jeff looked disconcerted for a moment, but quickly rallied. "Oh, uh… As we stand upon the threshold—"

"Derivative, maudlin, terrible." Abed straightened up, gazing into the middle distance. "I suppose I'm going to have to rise to the occasion. On the anniversary of my birth—"

"Do you ever feel like other people are orchestrating your life?" Jeff muttered to Annie.

"All. The. Time."

" _On the anniversary_ of my birth, it's natural for me to reflect back upon the past year, and the changes I've seen. I bought a new PlayStation, discovered I was allergic to shrimp, and submitted a short film to Sundance. Troy—"

There was a sound like a baby babbling, and Shirley sat up. "Oh!" she said, reaching into her pocket for her phone.

Abed sighed and continued. "Troy got a new job and completed _Mass Effect 3_."

"Disappointing," said Troy.

Abed nodded. "Indeed. Annie bought her first apartment. Jeff, after—"

"I should never have given that man my phone number," muttered Shirley, reading a text. "Jeff, Pierce says congratulations, and also that he thought you were gay."

Jeff just rolled his eyes.

" _Jeff, after a period as Annie's nemesis_ , joined our friend group," said Abed, irritably. "Shirley's business hovered on the brink of disaster, but was saved by an unlikely hero—"

"Jeff," said Annie, proudly.

"Pierce," said Abed. "Britta... I'm not sure you did anything. And, in the—"

"I campaigned to save the rainforests!"

"Uh-oh," muttered Jeff. He turned to Annie. "I think I see where this is going. There's something I should say before Abed gives away any spoilers." Jeff took a deep breath.

"—emotional denouement we all saw coming—"

"I took up Reiki!"

"I love you, Annie."

"—Annie and Jeff found—"

Annie gave a quiet gasp, putting her hand to her mouth. "After just a week?"

"I went to Burning Man!"

"—love with each other."

Jeff smiled. "Less than a week," he reminded her. "But that's not important. It started long before that."

"…set up a Facebook page to raise awareness of child poverty, I don't see why that gets ignored when _shrimp allergies_ make the list…"

It shouldn't be possible to throw yourself at someone with whom you're already snuggling, but somehow Annie managed it anyway. "I love you, too," she said, the words muffled in his shoulder.

"Oh good." His words were light, but his hug wasn't.

Troy gave a little whoop. Abed glared at him, and he looked embarrassed. "Sorry. It just felt like the right time, you know?"

Abed sighed. "I know. It's impossible to fight. All we can do now is pray for a sequel. Or an alternate universe in which we all go to college together and have wacky adventures for six seasons and a movie."

"Huh?"

"Nothing. It's not important." Abed smiled sadly. "The end," he muttered.

"Abed, what is this 'the end' nonsense?" said Shirley. "’The end’ my ass, I have to pick up Eli and Jordan from taekwondo in an hour and then I need to get home and start on the lasagna I'm going to have for dinner with my family. Tell me that's the end, I dare you."

"Yeah, Abed, why such a downer?" Britta sat forward, frowning sympathetically. "Is this because of your birthday? Do you need to talk about it?"

Annie and Jeff had tuned all this out, too wrapped up in their own private world to notice the conversation going on around them. She'd pressed her face tightly into his shoulder, and he nuzzled against her, his lips finding hers.

"Nah, it's okay, we'll play it out in the dreamatorium this evening – right, Abed?" said Troy, holding his hands out for their handshake. Abed hesitated. "Don't leave me hanging, buddy!"

Abed obliged, and then looked down at his hands thoughtfully. "Huh. That's weird. We still seem to be—"

\---

THE END.


End file.
